


Nevermore

by 4getfulimaginator



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - No Curse, Captain Duckling, Dark Magic, Dark One Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Poetry, Kidnapping, Loss of Faith, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Trust, Loss of Virginity, Mermaids, My First Smut, Neverland (Once Upon a Time), Princess Emma Swan, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4getfulimaginator/pseuds/4getfulimaginator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>CS AU with Dark One!Hook and Princess!Emma.</b> </p><p>When Hook captures Princess Emma and locks her on his ship, he becomes besotted with her and is determined to make her yield to him in every way. Depressed, Emma starts to sing, mesmerizing Hook with her wondrous voice. Can the Captain love again and break his own curse, or will he forever cage his Emma bird?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freedom Lost

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Based on a Tumblr prompt by **Kazetsume** : _"AU, Angst/Romance/Drama. Dark!Hook captures the beautiful Princess Emma & locks her on his ship for-evermore. Depressed Emma starts singing & Hook is mesmerised by her sweet voice. One day he demands she entertains him with her songs & tries to seduce her but she retaliates. Angry, he moves her into a magical gilded cage & locks it; his own Emma bird. Time moves, but they don't age. Emma continues singing as comfort, crew adores her, Hook falls in love but Emma just wants to go home. (fly free)"_
> 
> For this chapter, I've especially incorporated some events from the season 2 episode "Queen of Hearts" but made them AU.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

  _But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,_

_That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour._

_Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –_

_Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before –_

_On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'_

_Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

Even the town drunkards had heard of her ― golden like rising sunshine, fiery like the tongues of a crackling flame. She was considered a radiant beauty, intelligent and brave and  _pungent ―_ a colorful songbird that delighted in taking flight, that reveled in being free. The offspring of Prince Charming and Snow White, true love personified.

But he had seen many women ―  _and once you've seen one, you've seen them all_ , he scoffed.  _What could be any different about this one?_

For beyond three hundred years, he had witnessed countless settings of the moon and sun, felt the whiplash of the wind and the salty sting of seawater more than he could fathom. He had become a timeless being, first consumed by love and then by hatred. The change was irrefutable and deadly.

It was, without a doubt, his undoing. First, he had schemed and plotted endlessly how to kill his immortal nemesis. Then after the deed was executed, the cringing bastard turned into a rotting corpse drained of magic, he had a new enemy:  _himself_.

Never any peace. Not one instant. Never. He had lost his old identities.

He was the new Dark One, his true name inscribed on that bloody dagger. Oh, how he had screamed and yelled at the damned device, dragging rocks and knives in an attempt to scrape the inscription off of the tarnished metal. But it hadn't been any use. Of bleeding course not. The darkest magic now polluted his veins, coursing through like a damned river. Every day, he desperately grasped at Killian Jones, that piece of his soul he had so despised as Hook ― he needed to revive the best of himself, or he would perish in the midst of the worst of himself. The darkness within was swallowing him whole, and he was helpless to stop it. He could only attempt to end it, since he was so bleeding clever at destroying things...

Gone was the witty, dashing pirate, so confident and sure. This creature he was...it was twisted and ugly and disgusting, bringing his vices to the surface. And he hated it...hated every bit, every last fiber. Captain Hook had been a villain, but never a monster.

Dedicated once to revenge for the sake of his love, now he was condemned to find a cure to his new disposition or die trying...which is why he was listening to these daft fools and preparing to make quite an entrance into the neighboring castle.

Hopefully, the prisoner was still alive, or all would be for naught. After all, just because Hook was the Dark One, it did not mean he could not be killed...

And by God's name, he wanted to live. If there was one thing that was more important to him than revenge, it was his life.

* * *

Five years.  _Five years_. Five years of never kissing her parents goodnight, of never seeing her homeland bathed in sun and rain. Five years of life lost, life utterly  _wasted_  ― all because she was chained to this hell of a cell, doomed to see light only through the holes of a tiny barred window. She was filthy, humiliated, broken, miserable, and  _dying_. Dying every single day, withering away like a flower without air. And the heartache...it was growing, nightmare after nightmare, shattered dream after shattered dream. This was a blackened hole, an abyss ― and God, she was falling. Flailing.  _Failing_.

"And how is my precious savior this afternoon, hmm?" A low voice chuckled, cruel and taunting. Emma rolled her eyes and turned her back to the wall. She had no desire to speak to  _her_.

When Regina entered the moonlight, a chill swept through the air, making the princess shiver. "Come now," the Evil Queen prodded, "you must be  _aching_  for some conversation. Don't you tire of talking to the wall?"

Clenched, trembling limbs. Gritted teeth. A gnawing rush of fire that scorched her very bones. How she wanted to wrap her hands around that witch's neck and―

"Bloodlust doesn't suit your complexion, dear." Regina was just in front of her, conveniently out of the reach of her writhing, manacled hands. A smirk crossed her lips, widening on seeing Emma struggle against her restraints like a wild animal seeking its prey.

"What do you want from me, Regina?" she gasped out when her body began to weaken, its energy and strength spent. "Why do you keep me here, year after year? Haven't you punished me enough ― punished my parents enough?"

The Evil Queen only scrutinized her, her expression dark and unreadable. "I imagine you know the story―"

"―and you know it as well. A little girl whispered a secret in an act of goodwill. A mother manipulated a child to break her daughter's heart. A queen was crowned and a demonic witch was born because you blamed the wrong person and swore revenge against an innocent―"

Regina was squeezing her neck, fingers digging into her skin painfully and bruising her throat until she couldn't breathe. She looked murderous. "Snow was never innocent," she snarled. "Your mother caused my unhappiness ― and for that, she will pay. How better than to watch her own daughter die in her former home, alone and forgotten, the perfect Savior destined to never restore happy endings?"

" _Never_." Emma was biting down on her bottom lip so hard that she could taste blood. "My parents will never forget me." She couldn't move under the Queen's magical grip.

"And during the last five years, they haven't attempted to rescue you even once?" She tsked mockingly, roughly throwing the girl onto the ground. "What a poor show of love."

"I could say the same about you," she snapped back, growling under her breath. "Somehow, you never found anyone else to love you after Daniel."

A loud crack filled the empty space, leaving Emma with a burning, reddening cheek. " _Don't say his name_ ," Regina hissed menacingly. "You insolent palace brat ― you know  _nothing_  about me. And I swear: you will remain in this cell until your bones are all that is left of you."

* * *

It was damn easy. Too easy. According to all he had heard of the Evil Queen, her security system should have been more severe and not so...lax. In less than an hour, he had scaled the castle walls, broken into an empty storage room, and killed enough of Regina's guards to piss Her Royal Highness off.  _Some bloody army she had_ , he muttered to himself as he used his hook to fiddle with the lock. It would be faster to magically open the damn thing, but it was best for the latent pirate to be at work inside the powerful sorceress' habitat ― being the Dark One in full form would only endanger him further.

Violently twisting and turning the tip inside, it was with a dramatic grunt and shove that Hook nearly was sprawled across the floor of the cell from the force of his push, the door closing silently behind him. But it was the sight before him that left him winded, his lungs bereft of air from shock and amazement.

The girl sitting on the cot was dressed in rags, her blonde locks dirty and unkempt. Her eyes, blue-green sparkling like turquoise and emerald, were staring at him in fear and a hint of interest, but her instincts eventually won over her curiosity as she pulled away from him, her back hitting the stone wall.

She appeared to be malnourished, maltreated, and wretched. Still, even in that state, she was exactly as the legends said and even more magnificent in the flesh than he had ever believed to be possible. He had visited many kingdoms, viewed many princesses ― but Princess Emma Swan was the first he had ever  _wanted_  to bow down to, to pay homage to. Every feature she possessed was worthy of worship.

"Who are you?" She was eyeing him warily, legs carefully tucked under her lap. When he rose to his feet, swinging the fur cape he had donned to its correct positioning, she drew back even further.

"Don't be afraid, lass." He tried to eliminate the sinister tone that rang out in his voice, but the best he got was a slippery sound that almost resembled a soft drawl. "I'm here to rescue you, to take you from this horrible place." Reaching a hand into the pocket of his trousers, he yanked out the set of keys he had stolen, dangling them in front of her.

She only raised an eyebrow, her gaze cold. "From one prison into another, I take it."

He sighed inwardly, peeking backwards and listening hard to see if his presence had been discovered yet. Propelling himself onto his knees beneath her, he took some pleasure in how her jaw dropped as he began to unlock her cuffs. "Try something new, darling ― it's called trust."

When she immediately rubbed her chaffed wrists, her silence foreboding resistance, he began to work on the manacles hindering her feet. "Look, love ― I don't have time to explain to you my motives, but we'll talk when we're on the  _Jolly_ , savvy?"

She glanced at him quickly. "The  _Jolly Roger_? Your ship?"

He nodded, giving her a tentative smile. He sincerely hoped it didn't look like a malicious grimace. "Aye."

"And you're...you're Hook?  _Captain_  Hook?"

He grinned gleefully. "Ah, so you've heard of me?"

Standing tall, the top of Emma Swan's head only reached his chin, but the lack of expression and emotion in her face was making him think her looks belied the true measure of her stature and gumption. "Oh, I've heard of you indeed," she whispered.

When he motioned for her to go, she hesitated, her eyes on the floor. He reached out, trying hard to be a gentleman and help her when the bastard in him was impatiently demanding she get a damn move on ― and then she struck. His dagger was wrenched from its scabbard and placed threateningly against his throat in under a minute, her hold on him surprisingly strong for one so weak. Well, for a skinny woman who had endured five years of containment, living on bread and water.  _Damn her._

"I know my parents would never send a former pirate, let alone the Dark One, to save me," she spat disgustedly, "so what do you have to gain from my release,  _Hook_?

He gulped, wondering how he could be afraid when he was in fact immortal and her knife was powerless―

In an instant, magic surged from his fingertips as he regained his senses, Emma flung against the wall and his dagger torn from her hands. Fury blossomed into a massive storm, flinging any remnants of Killian Jones out the sodding window. He was the bloody  _Dark One_  ― he didn't need to answer to some twit of a girl.

"Thank you," he replied bitterly, "for reminding me what I'm all about."

Emma was unconscious, a streak of blood lining her scalp and forehead.  _And he cared less._  The darkness inside him was laughing. A princess defying the Dark One ― pathetic.

Scooping her motionless body into his arms, he took one step toward the door, pausing. The task was complete, so why should he creep in the shadows like some idiotic minion? This was his mission, his idea. He would hide no longer.

Peering down at Emma, a sudden temptation overwhelmed him, and he was stroking strands of hair from her face, wiping away the drops of blood he had caused. A slight feeling of remorse crossed his mind, but he disregarded it. She was the means to an end ― nothing more.

Summoning every ounce of power, Hook held tightly onto his prize as the prison faded, the walls brightening until they were gone.

His toil was now over. What was going to happen next would be...more  _enjoyable_ , to say the least.

Gradually, eventually...this golden songbird would chirp.

* * *


	2. Let Us Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The quotes from "The Raven" are not going to be given in chronological order according to the poem.

 

_Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,_

_Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before._

_'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;_

_Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –_

_Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –_

_'Tis the wind and nothing more!'_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

The blackness was eating her, threatening to tear her eyes from her head until she saw nothing and screamed from pain, anger, and fear.  _Fear._ It killed her inside to admit that someone like the Evil Queen could, for once, be right. Perhaps that was why she was being punished now, her head throbbing and every piece of her flesh boiling.

That was all she was now: pain and anger and fear. At first, when she had crawled to the thick stones of her prison and willed the cracks between to break her free, she had had hope her parents would come find her.  _We will always find you_ , her mother had told her every time she had gotten lost in the woods or had hidden in the castle.

But this time, they had not. She had been drained and abused by her captor, her willpower broken until she could barely decide whether her nightmares or reality were the greater horror. She had witnessed her own torture, from the growing inward despair in her heart that she had been abandoned by those she loved to the mistreatment of her body by the whip, the knife, and magic itself. She had cried herself to sleep every night until there were no more tears, only a dull ache spread by the numbness in her limbs.

Worse of all, the doubts that had been biting at her were exacerbated by her confusion at her own emotions. Now when she pictured her parents, she felt nothing ― not love or loyalty or faith or hope.  _Nothing_. It was cold indifference, and it frightened her beyond belief, that a part of her soul was running away, never to return. It was different to choose to hide your feelings, but to not feel anything at all?

More than anything, Emma feared that she was made of stone, as heartless as if Regina had literally taken the beating organ from her chest and hidden it in some dark box. Deep in her dreams, she tried to capture what she had lost, to find what she was desperately seeking. Memories filled with breathless love reached out to her, but they were carried off by the wind of awakening, that restless whisper that made you helplessly realize it was time to leave sleep behind.

If this was life...if this was reality...if this was her curse...may she never awaken.

 _From one prison into another._ Was she no better than the Evil Queen herself, that she was untouched by all but that which she hated most?

Fighting and clawing against the weight bearing down on every inch of her body, Emma's eyes snapped open suddenly, the waxing light drawing a muffled whimper from her lips.

She was determined not to cry anymore. But when she saw her surroundings, longing pierced her skin and sank into its depths, dragging a pained scream from the very core of her soul.

She wasn't home. Nor was she free.

She was in hell.

_Never let me wake. Let me go._

* * *

"Cap'n, she's burning up ― if she keeps on so, she'll suffocate from the inside out!"

"Nonsense, Mr. Smee," Hook snapped, pouring a generous amount of rum from a decanter into a crystalline glass. "Kindly recall you are no doctor ― she's in a delirium, 'tis all. When her fever breaks, she'll be ready to talk." Dismissing his first mate with an absent wave of his hand, he glanced up and down Emma's curvaceous form, noting how luscious it looked, clothed in his finery.

Her new scarlet red nightgown, the front parting dramatically to a pure white underlay, reminded him of carnations and peonies, their vibrant colors and rich folds hinting at the softness and flavor within. And in the case of his royal Swan, she was every inch as... _appetizing_  as her appearance stated. She was a yellow rose enveloped by colors of earth and sky.

Every fiber of his self-control and patience was severely tried when he first saw her bare body while undressing it from the demeaning rags Regina had provided, not willing to trust any of his crew to this task. No, they would debase Emma ― only a gentleman could ensure that her virtue would stay intact despite everything.

But that was becoming more and more difficult with every passing day, and Hook found himself unusually surprised by this turn of events.

At first, he had worried that this would be a discouraging task, that what he sought would be hard to tolerate. Admiring the features of the golden sleeping beauty before him, he smirked at his foolish notions. After wiping away the dust and dirt from her face and then washing her hair, he had realized Emma was a vision come down from paradise to torment men like him...no, evil beasts like him, who could only secretly hope for a taste of sunshine while hiding in midnight darkness. However, there could be no doubt that this pure white Swan was now safely in his custody. The real challenge ― one he was looking forward to ― would be making her his.

If she succumbed...if she touched him...she would be consumed. And then he would be free. It mattered not what she felt or if she hated him, was repulsed by him, fought against him: he would have his revenge complete and live to tell of it, to laugh at Rumplestiltskin's ghost when he survived this ordeal.

No magic could chain him to a dagger of power forever. He had learned centuries ago that power, tempting and provocative, was much like lust and passion: it was a drug, addictive and crippling. It poisoned you until you could only dream of that, only want that.

And Hook ― well, at the heart, Killian Jones ― had only ever wanted one thing: love. But life had soon taught him differently, and now he wanted to escape from it all.

As far as he was concerned, this princess was a necessary evil, however beautiful ― and soon, this trial would be over.

* * *

There was the dullness that comes after being burnt, the scars of fire creating a trail of pain along the surface of skin. But she was determined to pull through.

Gritting her teeth as she raised herself up on the palms of her hands on something very fluffy, Emma swayed weakly before daring to lift her eyelids. She could smell a piquant odor, sharp and mellow, and then the ever familiar smell of cedar wood. Was she in a tavern?

Obviously not. Memories came back, of when she would visit the tavern with the Seven Dwarves, singing and laughing as they ordered ale after a long day growing magic beans in the royal fields. Anton, the last of the giants, would accompany them, now an adopted part of their family after Regina's mother, Cora, had shrunk him down to human size during one of her manipulative games. Thank goodness Rumplestiltskin had defeated her before he had passed on...

"Ah, you're awake!" She barely had time to discern whom the voice belonged to before the door of the room loudly slammed shut, leaving her alone.

On further inspection, she realized she was in a cabin ― judging by its size, the captain's personal quarters. Lavish curtains, a massive bed, fine rugs, polished furniture...surely the captain was no ascetic. The soft rustling of fabric against her skin made her very aware of the fact that someone must have dressed her in new attire... One moment she was thrilled; the next, she was horrified.

Blinking rapidly when the door opened once more, a dark figure sliding through the entrance, she squinted hard, trying to figure out who her new visitor was.  _Hook_.

"Welcome to the  _Jolly Roger_ , milady." His voice was smooth and sensuous, creating shivers up and down her spine. Never had she seen such an enthralling man, even throughout the depths of the Enchanted Forest. He had eyes that spoke of the soul, a body that reflected the work of the sea, and a presence that ultimately terrified her, like it had from the very first in that dreadful cell. And Emma Swan was rarely afraid of anything.

She eyed him up and down without saying a word, much like he was doing her, and finally dared to ask, "And what do you want with me, Captain Hook?"

He tsked, a dark grin marring his handsome features. "What a gutsy lass ― but luckily for you, I like that in a woman."

"Take me home." He had nothing to gain from her capture ― her parents believed her to be dead. She cleared her throat, growing dizzy again. "Take me home, and you will be rewarded."

He strutted forward until he was face to face with her, looking all too predatory. "What makes you think I want any reward?" he murmured, licking his lips and gazing at her wantonly. "I'm the Dark One ― I can summon anything I desire."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're also a pirate ― gold will always call to you. I'm assuming you know who I am, so you must also know where I'm from. If you have any honor at all―"

"That's it, darling: you've hit the nail right on the head. I have no honor...well, not anymore. This is how it works on my ship: I make the demands, you follow them. Therefore, you will be my guest ― or my prisoner, whichever you prefer ― until I have what I want."

Emma froze, forcing herself to keep talking. "What do you want?" she repeated, deadly quiet. "What could the Dark One possibly want from me that he cannot create?"

Hook reached out to stroke her hair and her face, smiling even when she pulled away from him. "There is a prophecy: 'When Light chooses Dark and Dark merges with the Light, one who is lost will be saved.'"

"Haven't you ever heard of personal space before?" she grumbled, more focused on eradicating his errant touch than listening to his suave words. However, the moment he ceased speaking was when she absorbed what he had just said. "Wait... What do I have to do with any of this?"

He raised a brow mockingly. "Why Princess, how clumsy of me to not set the record straight," he sneered. "You're the product of True Love ― by all accounts,  _you_  are the Light which I seek. I was told to find you."

"By whom?" she snapped.

"An old friend," he replied nonchalantly, "who could see the future. It may comfort you to know that his last thoughts were of you."

Chills racked her body, and she curled further into the blankets. His cryptic explanations was causing her nerves to tingle, and she didn't like it. Somewhere in the midst of his enigmatic statements were the answers she sought to questions she had to ask ― but a tight feeling of dread assured her that honestly, she did not want to find them. Knowing the truth would hurt more than staying ignorant. Still, that didn't stop her from wanting to know. She had heard enough of Hook's backstory to put the pieces together ― and the whole of it frightened her.

"I choose Dark? Dark merges with me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she spat out as bravely as she could, her throat growing dry as she became increasingly aware of Hook's proximity. He smelled of danger, death, and desperation. All three were intoxicating.

He only smirked, his eyes darkening. An aura of power seemed to embolden him as he violently ripped the blanket away from her, exposing her bare legs to the light. "Isn't it obvious, darling? A few more hours in my company, and you will never doubt again that I'm the Dark."

Emma tried to scream, but she was too dehydrated, and her muscles were weak. She was too much in shock to talk back, to argue, to fight. Vainly struggling, she resisted to the best of her ability when Hook grabbed her arms and yanked her forward, literally hooking her hands together while his only one cupped the back of her neck.

"Look at me," he commanded after she turned her face away. When she refused to obey, he forced her to do so until his lips were almost caressing hers. "Do you realize how beauty like yours can drive mere men to madness? How craving to touch such soft skin...taste such tempting lips...feel flesh against flesh with such warmth and heat...can bring even the Dark One to his knees?"

He brushed his lips over her jawline, pleased by her trembling while his hand traveled all over her body, daring to venture everywhere. "I promise you, Emma Swan, that I will return the gesture. Make no mistake that you  _will_  be mine ― even if I have to use every last ounce of my magic to do so."

She wanted to be numb. She wanted to firmly say that the way he was exploring every inch of her skin wasn't effecting her, that he didn't leave a trail of fire and ice in its wake. Finally, she dared to admit that however repulsed she was by his vow, by his touch, there was a part of her that whispered she was still human and susceptible to desire. Disgusted by this conclusion, she grappled with Hook frantically, struck motionless when he lowered his head and placed a searing kiss above her heart, sampling her with his tongue.

Pushing him away made him hold onto her harder, his mouth now tracing the curves of her throat. "Stop this ― stop it!" she cried out, wresting her arms from his grip and attempting to flee the bed. Hesitating for an instant, like a hunter analyzing his prey, Hook smiled lustfully before standing up and cornering her.

When she raised her hand to slap his cheek, he gesticulated with his fingers and she was frozen, unable to move as tendrils of purple smoke hindered her freedom. Running his hand from her right shoulder down to her hips, he stared shamelessly at her, his eyes piercing her soul.

"It's nothing personal, love ― it's destiny. You were fated to join me, and I have every intention of keeping you."

Tears fell, and she bit her lip to hold back sobs. "But you don't love me ― you just want to use me. How can Light choose Dark when you imprison me here?"

He laughed bitterly. "Lass, I do not have the luxury of waiting for your affection, especially when I am aware it was out of my reach to begin with. Furthermore, I don't want your love, nor do I need it." He groped her thigh meaningfully under her nightgown, stroking it slowly up and down.

"The prophecy only mentions that I must take you willingly ― and willingly you shall. I will make you beg for me," he whispered huskily, "when you're sick of merely lying next to me night after night, trapped in my embrace. I will make you suffer when I help you bathe and dress, nothing hidden to my sight. I will torment you day after day with the thought that you lost your freedom to me ― and that the sole way to regain it is to yield to me. And I will wait patiently until you give yourself to me."

Emma gasped, closing her eyes and shutting out the image of his longing expression, the raw hunger there matching his wanton threats. "Why take me from Regina when you want to torture me more severely than she ever could?" she said brokenly. "I've never done you any harm ― I'm inn―"

"Nothing is innocent," he punctuated coldly. Gazing at her intently, he suddenly crushed his lips onto hers, reveling in her squirming by deepening the kiss and then withdrawing from her just as quickly. "That is a taste ― of the future," he added darkly, waving his hand to release her from his spell. She fell onto the floor, choking and sputtering. Lifting her head slowly, she glared at him with as much hatred as she could possibly emit in one glance.

Winking and licking his lips lewdly, he declared sultrily, "Sweet dreams, my Swan ― only in sleep can you rob me of your charming company, but rest well, knowing that I will dream of you as well." Bowing pretentiously, he swept out of the room, his chuckles echoing through the wood of the chamber when she pounded against the magically locked door.

"Remember, Swan," his deep voice called out before the sound of it gradually faded away, "you belong to  _me_  now, and there is no escape for anyone from the Dark One. So heed my advice: do not try."

Cursing under her breath, Emma swore to herself that she would...or die.

* * *

"Mr. Smee." Hook took his stance behind the helm, the pain contorting his features gone as soon as it had come. His humanity was resurfacing all too readily when he was around the girl, and the darkness within did not approve. "Prepare to set sail and ready the crew ― we have quite the journey ahead of us."

Nodding, the small quivering man bumbled down to the lower deck, pausing before he descended. "Where are we headed, Captain?"

He flashed his hook, eyes set on the horizon. "Neverland," he murmured, fingering the swan locket Emma had worn around her neck when he had found her in the Evil Queen's castle.

He would never forget what he had set out to accomplish. Proud, relentless, stubborn ― the lass was much like Milah, but his love had certainly been no swan. She was strong, but not strong enough. Emma Swan evidently was stronger. When faced with impossible odds she could not overcome, she did not surrender.  _But how long would she hold out against her new cage?_ , he wondered.

Ah, that was irrelevant. This curse had to end, no matter the cost ― and he would ensure that it did, even if it meant breaking her spirit.

* * *


	3. Bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: **Warning** ― there are triggers (dub-con) in the beginning of this chapter.

 

_This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing_

_To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;_

_This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining_

_On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,_

_But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,_

_She shall press, ah, nevermore!_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

_She knew it was a dream, erotic and compelling. It had to be. And yet...it didn't feel like something her mind had conjured from the depths of her imagination. Even though her senses weren't responding and her bodily reactions were out of her control, she still didn't believe that it all wasn't real. How could she, when he was doing all manner of wicked things to her and she was helpless to resist?_

_This was all wrong. It looked wrong, but it felt right. The image was muddled, but her emotions were clear. Or were they? It was the prevalent curse of dreams, that nothing in them ever made sense and yet you understood them while you lived them...for the dream world was very much like another life, showing you possibilities and the paths you did not want to take, a conundrum of alternate realities._

_His tongue was stroking hers sensually, his teeth nipping at her lips when she fought his touch. His hand was burning her skin, seeking every part of her at once. But most frightening and penetrating were his eyes, shards of ice striking at her core. They never left her face, even when he reached behind with his hook to tear open the back of her dress._

_Then he was pressing himself against her, insistent as ever, and when she pulled back, a flick of his wrist and a veil of purplish smoke unclothed her entirely. She knew she was flushing from head to toe, mortified and scared beyond reason, desperately praying she would somehow be miraculously transported to her safe bedroom in her parents' castle._

_But she wasn't. And Hook's desires for her were far from over._

_He was admiring his handiwork, his gaze darkened to a midnight blue as he stared hard at her. When she covered her bare breasts by crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt at modesty, he smirked, waving his hand once more. What she saw made her look away instantly, ashamed and horrified. She could not believe this was happening to her. It had to be a twisted nightmare, not reality._

_There was no denying that Hook was a very handsome man, Dark One or not, but to see him in the nude was making Emma nauseous. She had grown up, more or less, in an environment where innocence and purity were praised, virtue extolled. To see Hook's intentions regarding her so physically manifested as he stood before her, nearly panting and wetting his lips in anticipation, was inviting fear to her doorstep._

" _Do you not see how much I want you, Emma?" he murmured, threading his fingers through her hair. He was so close to her that she could almost feel his skin brushing hers, his breath fanning her face._

" _Please don't do this," she implored, turning from him and closing her eyes in a final wish that all would fade away as bad dreams should._

_In a surprisingly gentle gesture, he uncrossed her arms and drew her near, taking her hand in his and tendering kissing her palm before placing it on his bare chest. "Do not conceal such beauty, love ― never be ashamed of it."_

_She wanted relief, but it quickly evaded her when she saw him leading her lower and lower, encouraging her to cup him in her hand. "You see, darling? This is proof of how much you affect me," he groaned, rubbing against her fingers wantonly. She flinched, wanting to run. To hide. To disappear. But again, when she tried to turn her back on him, he immediately retaliated, grabbing her violently. Then she was sitting on a bed ― what bed? ― and he was on his knees in front of her. Her feet and hands were tied with some kind of magical rope, and Hook was checking the knots._

" _Emma, Emma ― it would be so much easier if you just succumb to me, lass. Think of the pleasure I can bring you ― God, you have no idea how the sight of you like this arouses me," he rasped, trailing his fingertips down her neck. "Your flesh, so ready for my touch...my mouth..."_

_When their eyes met, she returned his bold gaze, glaring at him. "And you have no idea how much I loathe you ― how much I wish that―"_

_Pulling her head forward, he silenced her with a possessive, fierce kiss, challenging her not to moan as he drew her down onto his lap. But she was strong, and she was determined to stay strong..._

_However, it was when his lips were marking every inch of her neck and chest that she came undone, her willpower gone. Her restraints had somehow vanished into thin air, and she was entangling her newly freed fingers in his dark hair, holding him close as he intensely savored her breasts, his hungry mouth showing her that she needed this. Her thighs were throbbing, her heart was racing...she was excited, driven to the very edge._

_But as Emma gasped and sighed when Hook vigorously continued to pleasure her, her response emboldening him further, she began to see through the haze of what could only be lust, animalistic and primal and reasonless._

_Sanity seeped through the cracks of her hesitation, and she felt disgust push away carnal desire. Her reasoning came back with the force of a storm, nearly blowing her over with its strength._

_This was sickening, the way she was submitting to a man ― a monster ― who wanted to bed her and then throw her to the side like spoiled trash. No,_ she _was sickening, by even reacting to the touch of the Dark One, the embodiment of the blackest, most vile magic. Her kidnapper. Her enemy._

" _All magic comes with a price," Rumplestiltskin had always said ― and she was paying it right now. She was giving Hook what he wanted: her body. But she was bleeding her soul._

_When he wrapped his good arm around her back and tried to lay her down on the dark sheets of his bed, she kicked him away, suffering through his curses and yells after she actually drew blood from scratching at his skin with her nails. Then his hook was pointed at her throat, and he was hovering over her, his lower torso crushing hers. She could read every outline of his body now, and the shuddering of his limbs could only mean he was either very angry or very aroused. Or both._

" _What are you doing?" he hissed, glancing from her nipples, reddened and erect from his passionate worship, to her flushed face. With her hair spread out behind her, soft curls dancing about her shoulders, Emma saw desire grow to full stature in his eyes. And she knew this was the end._

" _I will not be yours ― I'll never be yours," she snarled vehemently, struggling in his arms. He only gave her an evil grin before lowering his face until his entire body was touching hers._

" _Oh yes, you will be, my feisty Swan ― right here and now," he huskily promised. "Let me show you..."_

_The knotted rope was back, and she was screaming as he ground his hips against hers before parting her thighs with his knee, his gaze smoldering and filled with relentless purpose as his hand gripped her waist..._

* * *

"No!" Her eyes snapping open, Emma sprang to her feet, collapsing when her weakened legs fell out from under her. The pain of her behind landing on the cold wooden floor woke her completely, and she realized that she was huddled in the one empty corner of Hook's chambers, her face covered with a thick sheen of sweat and her body shaking like a dead leaf tossed in the air by a cruel wind. The captain was nowhere to be seen, his bed empty, but the black satin sheets reminded her of all that had occurred while she was asleep...and she suddenly felt the urge to vomit, though the ship wasn't rocking to and fro and she normally was never seasick.

Usually, memories of her dreams wouldn't outlast the night, melting away in the morning light, but these were still vivid and branded onto her mind's eye ― and she couldn't escape the images that crowded it, demanding to be viewed. But Hook had specifically said that he would never take her by force, that she had to be willing...

Her dry throat wracked by a series of coughs, Emma clung to the bedpost as she raised herself to her feet, searching desperately for water. Some host the pirate claimed to be, leaving her parched and hungry and lost. Either she was his prisoner, condemned to the ship's brig, or she was his guest proper and worthy of care...

She nearly fell backwards on the bed when the door opened with a loud bang and the man himself strode into the room, each ominous click of his boots signaling that he was getting closer.

"God, lass," he exclaimed, his tone full of an emotion she could not place, "you're as white as a ghost. Did you not sleep well?"

Emma gazed at him ― Hook looked exactly as he had in her dream, and his physical perfection was unnerving in the face of his corrupted soul. As she prolonged her staring, the bare hint of concern in his eyes transformed into all-too knowing lust. "Or were you awake because you needed something?" he smirked, his black leather attire stretching over his lithe form as he leaned against the wall, leering at her in return.

There would be no point in telling him that she had cried herself to sleep, wanting the comfort and safety of her parents' embrace. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and dared to sound imperious ― well, as imperious as possible, under the circumstances. "As a matter of fact, I do need something: food and water, as appropriate for either your prisoner or your guest."

He laughed at her. "But of course, Princess," he drawled, waving his hand to create a veritable feast on the table before her.

Creeping slowly like a mouse might do in front of a cat, trying not to draw too much attention with any sudden movements, Emma reached out to touch the clusters of fine black grapes, the cheese and rolls near what appeared to be smoked ham and bacon on a platter. Fresh greens and fruits lay to the side, ornately arranged inside a golden cornucopia, and crystal pitchers held water and wine. It was lavish and seductive, the crimson tablecloth contrasted by white and silver, black and gold. The cutlery and fine plates shone like the sun, surrounded by napkins and wine glasses that reflected the light.

"All this? For me? How kind," she commented sarcastically, the venom in her voice losing its sting as she began to cough again.

The scent of spicy rum, saltwater, and ocean air became stronger when Hook was suddenly beside her, his deep breaths warming her neck. His closeness made her shudder. "You have no idea how much I could do for you, Emma," he whispered, magic lacing his tone so she could feel the sparks in the room, fire ready to burn.

"I'm afraid to find out," she muttered to herself, shakily pouring herself a glass of water. However, the erratic movement of Hook's hand clasping hers, silently offering to help with the task, took her off guard. The glass in her other hand dropped to the floor, a mind-numbing shatter. Instinctively, she bent her head, not daring to see fury and contempt on her captor's face on account of her clumsiness.

Whimpering as fatigue claimed her senses again, Emma knelt warily to the ground, wanting nothing more than to sink into it and disintegrate. But something held her back from grabbing the pieces of broken glass: a hand. Hook's hand, holding her upper arm firmly as he pulled her back up.

"I can take care of that." A flick of his finger, and the mess was gone, as it had never happened. "You're still weak from your occupancy in Regina's prison, I take it?"

His arms were keeping her from toppling over, keeping her near him as he aligned her body with his. "And from being in yours," she snapped, grimacing as everything hurt. It hurt to think, to move, to breathe, to  _be_. If she were truly home...she would probably be bedridden for months, the extreme state of her exhaustion the toll added to her previous sacrifice.

His hand was caressing her cheek, his gaze soft and full of understanding. It was almost as if he had left the Dark One outside the room, now only a man who seemed capable of compassion. "You still don't see why, love?" he whispered, his lips by her ear.

She was drooping like a parched flower, wheezing and praying not to faint in his embrace. When she saw black spots in her vision, she tilted forward. "I'm going to be sick," she murmured, the pain in her tone making Hook frown in consideration. Narrowing his eyes for a brief moment, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, gesturing for the sustenance he had prepared to follow.

The hatred she had for this disreputable pirate, this terror of a sorcerer, was nothing in comparison to the confusion that arose ― along with more dizziness ― when Hook decided to spoon-feed her. "I'm not hungry," she stated, stubbornly turning her face from his offerings. However, she drank deeply from the glass of water he brought forth, a slight smirk on his lips as he assisted her.

While he carefully ladled soup into a spoon and held it in front of her mouth, she peered at him through hooded lids. "Why are you doing this?"  _Where was the indifferent beast who had taunted her just the other day, forcing his attentions on her and laughing at her protests?_

Hook gave her a beautiful, white smile, so opposite the darkness that waxed and waned in his gaze. The moon against the night sky, the stars in his eyes. "I may be the Dark One, lass, but I'd never take advantage of an ill woman, no matter how despicable I am," he whispered, taking a napkin to wipe away the sweat from her forehead. The way he stared at her, surprising kindness there, puzzled Emma more than ever. Who was he?  _What_ was he?

_He's a walking contradiction, beauty and ugliness intertwined, love and hatred bound. To separate his goodness from his evil would tear him asunder._

"I thought you said you cared less about me and more about getting me into your bed." She wanted to peer up at the ceiling, but even there his face appeared, the image haunting her. It was highly unsettling, what this man was doing to her.

"You  _are_  in my bed," he grinned wryly, chuckling when she expressed her annoyance at the fact. However, he said nothing more, caring for her with more tenderness that she had ever believed of him. And she still couldn't believe it.  _It must be some sort of sick jest, this change..._

There it was, the tattoo commemorating Milah still on his arm. And his hook, busy impaling a crude sort of layered sandwich on its tip by selecting a variety of breads, meats, cheeses, and vegetables... When he finished creating a cup of tea for her, he presented both in such a distinguished manner that the whole ordeal, a token of oddity, made her laugh. And then Emma felt herself smile against her will at his amused expression, blushing when he stroked her cheek like a lover would.

"So beautiful..."

She reflexively turned her face away, willing herself not to feel sorry for him, for the loss that had ultimately caused this man to become the Dark One.  _But compassion is what makes us human and keeps us from turning into unfeeling stone..._  Looking down at her hands, which were tugging uneasily at the hem of the satin coverlet, she asked tentatively, "Have you finally realized that force is not the answer to all this?"

He merely tilted his head in reply, scrutinizing her. "I was hoping when I found you that I wouldn't be disappointed. Now I know that I'm not." Brushing hair away from her shoulders, his touch melted away her tear-soaked nightgown and transformed it into another, one of soft white and curving silver. "Behind that lovely face is brilliance and flame. However, the rumors did not do you justice, I fear."

"How so?" She could only concentrate on how the tea rippled, how the vittles disappeared as she slowly and methodically chewed them out of existence.

Hook leaned in close, eager and almost beaming for someone who had had the semblance of a thunderstorm the day before. "They failed to mention how you are more warrior than princess, siren than angel."

"Then it's my duty to warn you that flattery will get you nowhere, Captain," she replied curtly, rolling her eyes when he smirked. She could play along with his game of words, but she would only go so far.

"You underestimate me, darling ― we have all the time in the world, and I for one want nothing more than to be in your company."

"All the time in the world?" she scoffed. "You'll be old and gray before I yield to you."

Passing shadow obscuring former brightness, he visibly darkened at that mention. "Not quite, love. Where we are...time, age, change...well, they simply fail to exist."

All the bedtime stories she had ever heard about such a place where such things were possible were foremost in her mind, and their chilling presence was reeling her in, away from Hook. "You took me to Neverland," she stated icily, pushing herself as far back against the bed frame as possible, desperate to be out of his reach.

"Aye." He wasn't sorry at all...he must have planned this from the beginning, for his eyes did not bespeak any lies, only the depth of his deception.

_No wonder she had had such nightmares ― Neverland preyed on your darkest fears and deepest imagination, and it never wanted to let you leave._

She wasn't going to let him see her cry. Instead, she watched her enfolded hands, fixated on them in an attempt to ignore the figure sitting beside her. But Hook did not let that pass. Of course not.

"Why did the Evil Queen imprison you?"

She had not expected him to ask that. Perhaps a query about her lack of reaction to being in Neverland, but not  _that_. He had said himself that he did not care about her, only about ending his curse; he disregarded how he had kidnapped her to another realm; and he had threatened her with the eventual possession of her body. Now he was trying to win her empathy. "I thought troubadours announced the tale often enough," Emma mumbled, blocking out persistent thoughts of her parents that continued to speak.  _Don't forget us. Don't forget._

"But as you well know, it is the victors who get to tell the stories." Dark, sombre, menacing, forbidding, terrifying ― she could have picked any of these from a hat while blindfolded, and all of them would aptly describe the anguish, malice, and agony Hook exuded, his features strained. And worst of all, he had every right to be so, for she had heard his story ― but not the version he had expected. In her storybook, he was Killian Jones before he was Hook.

Emma shook her head sorrowfully, refusing to glance back at the past, but her captor was insisting, sapphires intently boring into her. When she could suffer his smoldering gaze no longer, she whispered, "My parents and I know of sacrifice. My mother and father paid dearly, and then, on my eighteenth birthday, I had to pay as well. And it was always Regina who exacted the price. Her hatred for my mother had no bounds."  _Damn his curiosity._ She couldn't stop the watering, the wetness that spilled over her cheeks down to her lap.

"But now, you will never have to pay that price again. You are free of Regina forevermore." He was caressing her jawline, a gentle flow of healing magic soothing her injuries inside and out.

Then, in a blind rage, she wanted it and its creator gone. How dare he try to take away her pain, when he was adding to it with his vindictive mind games, pretending to be a harbinger of good ―  _how dare he, when he wouldn't let her go_. Something was alight within her, asking to be released...but it was dying quickly, and like a flickering candle, blew out. And she recalled the dream...

"Yes, I'm free of her ― but now I'm chained to you instead," she snapped, nearly yanking her hands away when he tried to cover them with his in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture.

The coldest smile grew on his lips, and gesticulating, the food and drink was replaced on the table, and he was by the door. In that instant, Hook truly looked the part of the Dark One: vengeful, self-obsessed, and sinister. "Remember this, Emma: our  _relationship_  can be as pleasant or as spiteful as you wish it to be, its duration entirely up to you. The more you impede progress, the longer this will continue. It is your decision alone. Once I have what I want, you can go free."

_But once I give myself to you, I'll never be free. Never never..._

She held her head up proudly, not letting him see how afraid she was. "I'd rather die."

"Oh, that threat may have worked on the Evil Queen, love," he sneered, "but you're forgetting something: I'm the Dark One, and―"

"―the Dark One's dagger is the only way you can die?"

His eyes narrowed. "We're in Neverland. You may have heard that you cannot age here, but that is only part of the whole truth. While death exists, it is no form of release ― you simply become a shadow of yourself, doomed to never find peace. You are never at rest, always searching for the one thing you cannot find."

She called out to his retreating back, "But at least I'd be free."

* * *

In the olden days, his crew was loyal to him for his sake alone, but now they obeyed him because of fear. When Hook walked the main deck now, all scattered so as not to get in his way, and only Mr. Smee was brave enough ― or foolish enough ― to approach him first without being summoned.

 _Bloody hell._  That girl was hard to argue with and even more difficult to placate, more stubborn than a mule and more tempestuous than the worst storm. He cursed under his breath, slamming his hook into the wet wood with fury.

Milah had been like gunpowder: dangerous, an explosion waiting to happen. But he had loved her all the same, for her spirit and her courage. This touchy princess, on the other hand...she was a pain in the neck. Was she really worth the trouble and the risk? But a small smile slipped when he pictured how Emma had clung to him as he had carried her, her grin when he had helped her. If she only knew how much those small humane moments cost him...

"Uh, Captain?" Smee was tiptoeing towards him, the act so comical that Hook wanted to laugh. But he couldn't, not when Emma's words still rang in his ears.  _I'd rather die...at least then I'd be free._  Why did she always make him feel...so... _weak_? He didn't know her, but she was peeling away his armor the way that Belle had done for Rumplestiltskin.

He turned to face his first mate. "Yes, Mr. Smee?"

The man was biting his lip and twisting that damn red cap of his again, looking as fidgety as a spooked horse. "The men were wondering...if we are to land anytime soon. The siren's song hasn't even begun yet, but the memory of it is already giving them the jitters!"

Hook sighed in frustration, not even listening as Smee recalled the crew's constant complaints and grumbling. The more he thought of Emma's acerbic retorts, the way she had stared at him in revulsion before he had exited his chambers last, the more his temper expanded until it burst.

"Enough!" he shouted at a startled Smee, who immediately fell silent. "This is  _my_  ship ―  _I_  give the orders! And if any man disagrees, he can go and walk the bloody plank―"

"CAPTAIN!" The man at the crow's nest was gesturing frantically, pointing downward at the black sea. "Mermaids up ahead!"

Hook rushed to the railing, anger forgotten. Dark One or not, mermaids ― well,  _sirens_  ― had their own brand of magic, one his could not defeat. This was, after all, Neverland: the bloody island played tricks on you deliberately.

 _Damn it._  There were bloody  _hundreds_  of them, all swarming below and preparing to make more violent contact with the hull; even though the ship was anchored, it was moving already.

Gritting his teeth, he hesitated before casting a protection spell over the  _Jolly Roger_. Striding over to the helm while shouting for the crew to get to their stations and brace themselves, Hook cried out, "Get ready to set sail, mates ― there's bumpy seas ahead!"

* * *

The only mermaids Emma had heard of were in stories ― her mother had always been fond of Ariel, the young mermaid princess who had first traded her extraordinary voice and then life under the sea to be on land with her true love, Prince Eric. She had seen wondrous paintings, of capricious maidens with fins instead of legs, songs of pure gold enchanting those they loved and luring those they hated to their deaths.

Never had she pictured that she would meet dozens in person, the tell-tale song of the siren guiding her mysteriously.

When the ship had suddenly lurched from left to right and back again, she knew something was happening, the shouts and screams of men echoing through the wood. Her father had taken her sailing when she was little, proudly showing her all the parts of the ship and naming every last piece, so the only fear Emma had ever had was being confined below deck, locked in some horrible small room while the ship sunk.  _If this was one of those times, she couldn't wait for it to happen._  The door to Hook's chambers had slammed open, and making her decision, she had plunged into the darkness and sought the stairs to the upper deck.

Now she was clinging to the rigging as the ship drove through turbulent waters, the crew and its captain too preoccupied with manning the ropes and the sails in the midst of mermaid waters. However, Emma became confused: though a siren's song was reputed to be fatally seductive, all she could hear was the saddest music she had ever heard, tragedy and death calling her name. Leaning over the railing warily, she peered down.

They were a marvel, their beauty ethereal. They were vicious. They were graceful. They were nothing like she had imagined they would be.

When one group saw her, they paused, continuing their song with more passion than before.  _Sing with us, sing with us...mourn with us, mourn with us...for that which can never be, never be..._

She couldn't remember what had prompted it, but she had always kept her singing to herself since she was very young, not daring to reveal it for fear of criticism. But she loved it. Loved it utterly and recklessly. And she loved how the simple act could set her emotions free.

So when the siren's song crept into her heart and made it pulse ― made it clench and spasm and constrict like it hadn't in ages ― she listened. And before she could stop herself, she opened her mouth, took a deep breath ― and her voice began where theirs ended, reaching from the waves out to the heavens.

* * *


	4. Killing Us Softly

  _But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,_

_Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;_

_Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking_

_Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -_

_What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore_

_Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

She couldn't place what had come over her. One moment she was shocked into silence by the scene before her, and the next...

Passion and sorrow and pain, death and love and life... They were endlessly circling, in unity and dissent in those endless melodies and full-bodied harmonies. Helpless, she could only sing back to them, louder and bolder with every passing minute, her shyness left behind in the shadows as she began to reach out to the owners of those angelic voices, entering the moonlight without hesitation.

Emma felt her entire being tensing with want ― the want for remembrance, the want for release. She was being drawn further and further away from the semblance of who she was, of who she appeared to be...closer and closer she came to baring her soul and letting it fly away.

Wonder of wonders, the mermaids joined in a chorus, following her lead as she sang to the stars, crying for everything she had lost and all she had ever wanted. Her parents, her best friend, her innocence.  _Never to be, never to be..._

One of the sirens' leaders, a ghostly vision of beauty with ebony hair, beckoned to her, and Emma sensed that familiar prickling at the corner of her eyes, the siren's song digging deeply into her heart. It was calling out her pretense, daring her to expose the truth of herself to the sea and sky. And oddly enough, she was not afraid. She knew their kind was known for drowning sailors and encouraging shipwrecks, but surely not these mermaids. Through their words and empathy, she disregarded the awestruck expressions of the pirates gathering across the main deck, gaping at the spectacle she was making of herself. She forgot about Hook, and she forgot about her imprisonment. Instead, she breathed in and out, relishing how the unnatural music was transforming her vulnerability into the sweetest and most profound sounds.

She was falling under their spell. But it was not a deadly one. No, she heard them all promise redemption from the guilt that was gnawing at her bones and her blood. She heard them offer to show her the light that had been stripped from her when she had been torn away from her home. To persuade her to keep on living. To give her the most precious and fleeting thing of all.

_Hope._

_There's always hope, Princess._

_Lift up your wings, Swan, and let go. Fly, and be free._

_This is not the end. You are not alone._

She was climbing down the rigging on the hull of the ship, ignoring Hook's outcries and screams for the crew to restrain her. She didn't listen. When her bare feet landed on the bottom of the small dinghy resting below, swaying softly on the muted waves, she took no notice of her surroundings. All she could see were the bright, shining eyes of the sea creatures in front of her, swimming quietly to the boat as they increased the fervor of their song.

Of its own accord, her outstretched hand made its way to the water. It was waiting, just as they were waiting. They had been waiting ― for  _her_. The leader mimicked the gesture, and before Emma could even gasp, their hands were pressed together, palm against palm.  _Two different worlds...cold next to heat._ Tears caressed her cheeks, and she quelled her worries, trusting completely in the siren's benevolence because she had nothing left to lose.

_And then...then there was the brightest and greatest light. Peace. It was the sun, shining into the dark and frigid air with gratifying warmth. First her heart was empty, its lukewarm state stifling her, and now...it was full to the brim, and her love...all of it...it was rushing back to her. No longer dormant, but fully awakened. And her memories...they were lit anew. Reborn._

_Too much...too many feelings pillaging her at once._

_Snow... David... Graham... Bae... Their faces were the guiding compass that would lead her home again. She'd never, never forget them. Neverland might try to take her memories away, but she would be stronger._

_Love could conquer the impossible._

Her eyes opened, and she took in deep breaths as if she had been underwater, realizing that all was silent. Staring into the firm gaze of the mermaid who was still touching her hand, she whispered, "What have you done?" Though their bodies were of the sea, their smiles belonged to the angels.  _Just like Hook's..._

"Have no fear, Emma Swan," murmured the siren in a lilting, flute-like voice. "You called out to us, so we came." Her words echoed, loud enough to be heard by the others, but Emma thought that they were meant for her ears alone, as quiet as a small breeze. "Your salvation will find you. Perhaps...perhaps it is closer to you than you know. So keep your love, and guard it well ― 'tis the most precious in all the realms."

"Why?"

Another smiled, dark crimson spirals falling onto her shoulders. "Because your heart is pure. You may not have faith in yourself, but we believe in you. Believe in yourself, Emma. Believe, and hope will find you."

_Fare thee well, Princess...fare thee well...you are one of us..._

The simmering beneath the water was the only sign they had been there, their presence swept away with the night wind. There had been sirens in abundance, and all that remained was the light dancing on the waves, a faint memory of a beautiful lingering melody ―  _their_  melody.

She had sung until her soul hurt, strained from its veiled opening, and in the darkness, there was nothing to show for her efforts but the ever present reminder that she had suffered on account of love ― that she was still a prisoner of this ship and its master, unable to escape Neverland.

Was any of this worth its cost? Nothing had changed.  _And with a sigh, she folded her wings and hid beneath them, perched on a precipice of pity._

Huddled in the bow of the boat, Emma sought to block out the light, wanting nothing more than to take refuge in what she had gained from the mermaids. Covering her face with her hands, she gritted her teeth in a weak attempt to rein in her shaken emotions and fortify the wall that had protected her from Regina's hatred.

It didn't work. Instead, she broke her one rule ― to never give up ― and gave in, letting her body be wracked by sobs as she re-examined her life.  _One life to live and one heart to give._

She wanted to go back in time and change what had been done and said. But she couldn't.  _She couldn't._

In the midst of her ill-timed grieving, the only thought that crossed her mind when Hook jumped down into the dinghy, muttering vaguely about not being able to magic her out thanks to the bloody mermaids, was how ashamed she was that he was saving her yet again. She should owe him nothing, but now she owed him everything.

When he proceeded to wrap his arms around her, instructing her to put her hands about his neck while he climbed up to the main deck and treating her overall as if she were a fragile china cup, the darkness crept in.

She wanted to slap his hand away ― and his hook ― and tell him how much she despised him and his  _help_. She wanted him to suffer for offering her freedom and then snatching it away. She wanted so much and had so little. She couldn't even fight back ― no, she had to serve and obey. And the sudden build-up of anger in her chest was reaching the point of no return, one that was unleashed when they were on his ship once more.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, tumbling from his hold in her haste to escape him. At first he looked surprised by her outburst, but in an instant his face hardened and there was fire in his eyes as he gnashed his teeth.

"I just saved your hide from the cursed mermaids!"

She scoffed at him, ignoring his outstretched hand as she pulled herself to her feet. "You want me alive to fulfill your prophecy ― you care less about my welfare."

"If you recall, Princess," he snapped back, "'twas your own fault that you needed my aid in the first place!"

"I was fine without you!" she replied bitingly, wishing he would just leave her alone. However, when she started to leave, turning her back on him, he followed, grabbing her by the arm before she could go below deck.

"Wait ― your performance just now, the singing,  _you_  ― what was all that about?" he asked softly, his tone strained. Emma was about to retort scathingly, but the genuine curiosity in his eyes made her pause. He continued, "Lass, you made those bloody fish leave my ship... Just who are you, Swan?"

She cocked her head, looking pointedly down at his grip on her wrist. Without a word, he released her. A gentle breeze rustled her hair, and she remembered she was dressed only in a simple nightgown, her bare feet quickly becoming cold and damp. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she whispered, peering down at the ground.

He lifted her chin, his blue gaze set on her. "Perhaps I would," he murmured, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "It's not everyday that one meets a true siren and an enchantress." He almost sounded... _hopeful_. "Your voice...it's beautiful, love. I have heard nothing like it in all my years. It was like...magic."

She tore her face away from his touch ― it repelled her. "I know nothing of magic, Hook ― nor do I wish to better know  _you_. I was safer with the mermaids than I am with you."

There was an uneasy silence, and his uncharacteristically hurt expression made Emma swallow hard.

Judging from the look on his face, it seemed her ungrateful attitude would have a heavy price.

* * *

Annoyingly, his men were reminiscing about the mermaid "miracle" more often than not. They had even dubbed Emma the angel of music, speaking in awed tones about the golden-haired princess whenever daily rations were being distributed or they were playing cards.

Against his will, Hook would stop to overhear Smee whisper to the cook about how Emma touched that siren without being drowned, or his helmsman swear to his mates when they were checking the rigging how the sea had literally glowed when the girl had begun to sing. It was abundantly clear that his crew was quite taken with the talented beauty and her voice, mesmerized out of their wits till they could think or speak of no one or nothing else these days.

To be sure, he would have to concede to being in the same state, seeing and wanting nothing else but Emma.  _His_  Emma. A songbird indeed...now he knew why the stories referred to her as such. She was a treasure, and now she was his. He would protect her and care for her, guard her like no other. This was no ordinary girl, but he was certainly no ordinary man.

_I'll never be yours..._

He suddenly felt inflamed, that particular memory and associated image searing his body with hot desire. She still hated him, no doubt about that...but she only needed a little... _persuasion_  to see things differently. To see him differently.

_You will be mine, Emma Swan, because I will win you for my own ― body, heart, mind, and soul. The tides have changed, darling...and I always listen to the sea..._

* * *

True to his word, Hook had made his chambers into a veritable cage ― to keep her safe, he claimed. Hah.  _From whom?_  No doubt, it was a golden cage, luxurious and spacious within, but a prison nonetheless. Emma could never leave the room: her meals were brought to her, and during the day, when Hook was busy on deck, she was confined to a monotonous existence of reading, observing the various objects within the captain's quarters, and peeking out the small window to catch a breath of fresh air.

Regina had taught her the feeling of claustrophobia by locking her up in a cell the size of a tiny square, but this was entirely different. Hook also was an expert at manipulation, and right now he was very close to convincing her that if she only saw reason, she would be free. As if being stuck in his bedroom with nothing was do was her choice and not his. As if struggling with her hate and her ― her ― her  _other_  feelings for him were  _her_  fault.

Every night, she was enclosed by two muscular arms, a warm chest pressed against her back as she attempted to go back to sleep. If she were fortunate, she would remain like that and not look upon Hook's sleeping face. But sometimes, she did ― and what she saw disturbed her more than any nightmare, for in that moment, she could finally look beyond the mask he wore and see  _him_. The real him.

She had heard that seeing someone asleep was an intimate act, one reserved for either parents and their children ― or two lovers. And the more she was forced to watch Hook dream, his expression relaxed and pain-free, the more she saw a man, not a beast.

Especially this time.

When she awakened in the middle of the night, it was to find herself freed from the embrace of a restless Hook, who was tossing and turning from side to side. He was mumbling something aloud, but while Emma was drifting back into slumber, he suddenly cried out, curling into the covers until they swallowed him and then abruptly shifting onto his right side so that he was facing her, his choking sobs echoing, his lips begging for a woman who was dead. His misery cut at her ears until she wanted to wrap them up with her blanket and hear nothing.

His forehead was glistening with sweat, his breathing was haggard, and his expression was tormented, as if he were being tortured by his dreams. When he kept shuddering, his brow furrowed from gritting his teeth, she decided that she had had enough. It didn't matter that she despised him, that sleeping in his bed was another way for him to aggravate her. His half-clothed body's proximity to hers wasn't helping matters either.

Emma knew what her mother would do in this situation, even if it was Regina breaking down into tears in front of her. Snow would conquer hate with love. She would be merciful and seek the good. Even if what that witch really deserved was a good, hard slap. Or a stiff punch to the gut.

Carefully gathering Hook into her arms, she couldn't help but grin as he settled naturally against her, his head resting right over her heart as he drew himself into her warmth, his nose innocently brushing her breast. Rocking him to and fro, she was reminded of the lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she couldn't sleep, and unconsciously, she began to hum it aloud. Gradually, his limbs loosened and the tension in his body disappeared, leaving her with a calmly sleeping pirate who was stealing her better judgment away from her.

This was more frightening than dealing with the Dark One. She could handle a fight against evil ― hell, she had co-existed with the Evil Queen and lived to tell the tale ― but she could not fight against something she did not and could not understand. And that was the boyish Hook nestling beside her, pulling her closer to him as he nuzzled her affectionately.

No, she would not be able to return to her own sleep after this. Not tonight.

Reaching out, she tentatively brushed disheveled hair away from his eyes, combing with her fingers strands that had run astray. In this moment, clinging to her, he looked so much like a Lost Boy from those horrid tales about Peter Pan and his band of unwanted orphans ― so hungry for love, that a taste of it would drive him senseless with need. That was why he had fallen so hard for Milah: offered love in return, he gave all he could with a breathless passion. For passion was as much a part of Killian Jones as pain was a part of Captain Hook.

When a soft smile crossed his lips and he sighed, she continued to caress his hair, aware that he was now watching her, his closed lids now open to slits of striking blue. His right hand currently buried under her waist, he unknowingly outstretched his maimed arm to her cheek ― and froze, the spell of their connection broken.

* * *

When he tried to jerk away the remainder of his lost hand from her face ― a part of him she had never seen exposed, as he always managed to hide it away in the cover of night when he removed his hook from its brace and the brace from his arm ― she deftly caught it, touching the end gently. It was truly no sight to be seen...but she understood better than anyone about battle scars.

"You should see the skin on my back ― I'll never be able to wear another open-backed dress again," she commented, massaging his stump with her fingertips.

His mouth was partly open, his gaze full of disbelief and shock at her acceptance. She shrugged, snuggling into her pillow and not daring to look away from his face. "You're not the only one who's gone through physical loss, Hook."

"You pity me?" Hook snarled, his lips set in a firm, furious line. "Don't. I don't want your pity."

When he tried yet again to pull his left arm from her hold, she unexpectedly grabbed his chin to make him look at her. "Hey ― I won't feel sorry for you...if you won't feel sorry for yourself. Deal?"

His eyes narrowed; now he certainly seemed puzzled by her behavior. "Why the sudden interest in me, Swan?"

She couldn't answer that. She couldn't tell Hook that she had felt the urge to comfort him, that she would have wanted that kind of kinship for herself if she were plagued by nightmares.  _Which she was._  Instead, she took the coward's way out and disentangled herself from him, getting out of the bed to go and sit in front of Hook's dresser. The mirror there was magnificent, but it only reminded her of Regina and her obsession with that damn thing.

Of course, the man had no scruples about following her until he was next to her on the bench, staring at her reflection in the mirror until she had to stare back at his. There was nowhere to hide, not from his scrutiny.

Happily, Hook was not the kind to sleep in the nude ― though she had a sneaking suspicion that he preferred to but did not out of some respect for her ― but he was still without a shirt, his bare chest revealed by the dawn light streaking through the window.  _And it was quite a sight..._  And she was only in this flimsy piece of nightgown, when his skin was almost scorching hers.

She closed her eyes when he pressed his lips beneath her ear, his mouth searching her neck before finding the rest of her face. One kiss after another, until her lips were before his, but there was no push this time and no resistance. Just yearning.

"You don't have to be so strong all the time, love," he whispered, tracing her jawline with his thumb. He leaned in further, resting his forehead against hers. "I won't hurt you, Emma ― so why not try to let me in? I can offer you...so much..."

She looked down at his hand enfolding hers. "But you've already hurt me, Hook ― and how could the Dark One have anything to offer but pain? Pain...and death?"

"First and foremost, I'm a man," he muttered to himself, his blue eyes darkening.

Emma shook her head sadly, biting her lower lip. "Some say we are either good or evil, and others think we are layered in shades of light and dark, bordering on gray. What do you believe?"

He was gaping at her, and the onslaught of this new heat was burning her... Surprisingly, it felt good.  _Sinfully, sinfully good._  "What did the mermaids tell you that you find the need to hide it from me?"

Such a bold tactic, changing the subject. She chuckled dryly, "Is that a question or a statement, Captain?"

Ignoring her interjection, he only pulled her closer to him, until they were nearly chest to chest. "Well, I don't need you to share ― you're something of an open book. All mermaids are liars, yet you somehow have taken their counsel to heart. Why, Emma?"

The way Hook said her name...as if he cared... "It was no lie, the light they gave," she replied quietly, desperately trying to avoid his gaze. If he took away her hope...

"Then will you believe me too, when I say I mean you no harm?"

"Why should I?"

He cupped her face with his hand. "Because of this."

She couldn't breathe. He was taking her air, sharing his, exploring her. Gentle and passionate, this kiss was so very unlike their first, a stark opposite, that Emma briefly wondered if she was imagining it all.

After he had offered the corner of her mouth a second kiss, he was slowly undoing the laces of her nightgown, pausing when she tensed. "Try something new, darling ― it's called trust."

Trembling, Emma closed her eyes and prayed her worst nightmare wasn't coming true ― no man had ever wanted her like this, let alone seen her bare **―** until she felt Hook reposition her so her back was facing him, the top portion of her gown pooling around her waist. His hand caught her hair and swiftly placed it over her shoulder, in the crook of her neck ― and then he was stroking her spine, his fingers floating along its trail.

"Scars or not, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Emma," he huskily intoned, lowering his head to place his warm lips on every mark the Evil Queen's whips and knives had made, his adoring touch washing away the hurt Emma recalled for each one. The gesture was a sweet one...innocent...uplifting... However, she couldn't help but question his motives.

Running her tongue along her own lips, she could still taste him: rum, saltwater, and a hint of something darker and deeper, rich and bold spicy musk.  _Oh, he was being bold..._ When he left a final kiss on her shoulder, she turned around so that they were sitting across from each other, an undeniable hold keeping them fixated to the cushioned bench.

At first, her face was flushing and burning from shame and embarrassment, but as his eyes never wavered from hers, she grew more confident, softly shaking her hair back so that it lay once more over that which she took pains to conceal.  _But exposing herself to him. Hiding nothing._

" _Emma_." He was visibly restraining himself from stretching out his hand to―

She tilted her head to the side, watching as he swallowed hard and clenched his jaw, trying to be stone rather than flesh and blood as he fought his arousal. "Why are you trying so hard to seduce me, Hook?"

In an instant he had roped his arm around her waist and drawn her to him. "Who said I needed to, love?" he murmured, peering pointedly up and down at her chest, rising and falling with every frantic beat of her heart. "Those spellbinding breasts of yours, in all their glory, are telling me a different tale ― and right now, you're doing bloody marvelous in seducing  _me_..."

 _Damn it. He could tell. Of course he could tell ― he was a three-hundred-year-old pirate who had slept with countless women._ "You're a vulgar pig," she snapped, blushing at the truth in his words.

"Oi, no need for insults, darling," he protested with mock offense. Then his tone grew serious. "'Sides, can you honestly say that I've touched you in any way tonight without your consent?"

She wanted to control how fast she was breathing, the impact all this was having on certain parts of her, but she couldn't. All she could see was that breathtaking face, the thrill of their mutual attraction so powerful that she was asking herself why she wasn't accepting him instead of why she wasn't rejecting him ― again. That was how her voice was not her own, thrumming with a sharp wish.

"You'll have to do better than that," she moaned, weakly chiding herself for not clapping her hands over her mouth and then pushing him away. Since when did she ever  _moan_?

Hook smirked at her, but she could feel the rapid stirring of his heart against her own. He was as affected as she was. "How so?"

When she looked up at him through hooded lids, the still foreign haze of lust stunning her speechless, he whispered into her ear, "Do you want me to show you...just what I can do?"

She could recall in perfect detail exactly what he had  _done_  to her in her dream, his mouth and hand kindling feelings and emotions and needs she'd never known existed. And now here he was without his namesake, which returned him to being Killian Jones, not Hook. Moreover, the furnace glazing his sight was proving that in this moment, he was only an irresistible man, not the Dark One. No demon or monster could look at her like  _this_. Could evil look like he did, compelling and vivacious and beautiful?

He was burning her ― she was sitting here, almost in his lap, and  _letting_  him. And the most shocking, confusing thing of all...was that he was presenting her with a choice.

_This was a trap. A pretense. She would do well to avoid it._

_No, this was a neverending well of desire, and she wanted to drink of it, because she was dying of thirst. She could still picture his wicked mouth, discovering her most secret spots...and then the pleasure he brought...overwhelming and startling and consuming..._

There was a time when she would have run from the very idea of yielding to such belittling primal instincts, but after all her trials and the annoyingly persistent will to survive that had kept her alive under Regina's terrorism, she had grown a dominantly defiant, rebellious side, one that was challenging her to accept Hook's proposal.  _Go ahead_ , it baited.  _Taste and see._

"I ― I can't." When she struggled in his embrace, this time he let her go.

"You can't? Or you won't?" he demanded, his hungry leer causing Emma to cover herself up as best she could with her thin nightgown. Rolling his eyes at her efforts, he waved his hand, clothing her instantly in a dark green dress with golden accents.

"Hook..." she pleaded, tempted to reach out for his injured arm. He pulled away from her, leaving her with a sense of inexplicable guilt. Why was she even feeling sorry for Hook, when frankly, he didn't deserve it? She had read his story ― she knew what he was capable of. "I...I can't, because...because I don't love you." She tested her courage and peered up at him, unsettled by the way he was glaring at his reflection in the mirror. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter what my body wants ― my  _heart_  doesn't chose you. That makes this all wrong."

Despite his obvious disappointment at being rejected, Hook looked resolute. "A man who doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets."

Emma sighed deeply, not sure why they were having this conversation in the first place. She didn't want him ― she didn't want to have anything to do with him. And yet... "Well, you're the Dark One, and I..." She hung her head. "I'm just a lost girl...who's desperate to get home. A girl who wants her parents badly."

"You're a woman, not a girl," he countered. "A woman who held me in her arms ― of her own free will ― like a bloody lover would."

"No," she gently corrected, "not like a lover would. Like a  _mother_  would."

He visibly bristled at that. "Like I stated before, I do not want you to pity me. You know exactly what I want from you, and I will not desist until I have what I want!"

"Then find yourself another savior!" she shouted back. "I've suffered too long for the sake of a lost cause ― I'm not going to do so for another!"

"Are you saying that the prophecy is a lie?"

She paced across the room, pausing once to eye him as he finished dressing himself. "I'm saying that I knew Rumplestiltskin when I was very young, and he knew better than anyone that the future is not set in stone ― I learned from experience."

"From what? You made a deal with the imp that went wrong?" he sneered.

Shaking her head, she grumbled, "That 'imp' was my godfather, and I helped him stop Regina from unleashing a terrible curse."

"A spell that would kill the Dark One on contact?"

Now Emma rolled her eyes. "No..." She rubbed her hands over her shoulders, suddenly feeling cold. "When his only son came back from Neverland, I befriended him and convinced to stay in our land ― to make peace with his father. The result had beneficial after-effects."

Hook's eyes were blazing, and he sounded furious. " _You_  told Baelfire to forgive Rumplestiltskin?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Like you told him about his mother's death at his father's hands! Look, we both had good intentions, but ultimately, the decision was Bae's. To stay or to leave, to forgive or to hate. You wanted to kill Rumplestiltskin," she accused, hardening her voice," and you succeeded. But I wanted to help him. And now, only Baelfire can judge who did more for his happiness."

A flash of movement, and he had her pinned against the wall, his hook pointed again at her neck. "Do  _not_  dare to presume what I did for Bae, Princess. I offered him my ship, a life at sea ― to be his guardian and his protector. To be his family, his home, his  _father..._ as Milah would have wanted... In short, I offered him everything I could possibly give, and he refused to listen. Whatever happened to him next was out of my hands."

She ignored the metal nipping at her skin, fear fleeing in the wake of her childhood memories. "And to show your love, you turned him over to Pan, a damned  _demon_  whose image haunts children's nightmares. How bloody  _brilliant_  of you,  _Captain_ ," she spat out, recalling the anguish on Bae's face when he had revealed his past to her for the first time.

However, instead of vehemently denying her claims or bursting into flames, Hook gave her a blank, puzzled stare, pulling away from her. "Who were you to Bae, Swan?"

She shrugged halfheartedly. "Some in the kingdom called us 'childhood sweethearts.'" She wanted to laugh at how Hook's countenance blanched when she said that.

"Was it true?" he asked lowly, the jealousy in his eyes drowning her.

After so many years of forgetting, Emma pondered her relationship with the Dark One's son, the way he had always fancied her more than she did him. In the end, he had accepted her feelings for what they were, but he still had told her he loved her. "I cared about him, but he and I discovered long ago that we were not meant to be more than friends." She peered at him acutely. "But why would it matter to you? You said you wanted my body, not my soul."

"Indeed, yet I do not have either," he noted wryly. "Baelfire believed in destiny, but what about you, Princess? Did he persuade you that all is fated to be?"

Emma sighed, rubbing at her eyes. She was exhausted by the morning's events, and now she wanted to drift on an endless sea of blackest hue, with no blue in sight. "No," she yawned, "I don't. We make our own destinies, Hook. It wasn't destined that I would be a prisoner on your ship or your captive. You did that. You made it happen."

"True...but there was no other way, lass ― you must understand." He was adjusting his hook, checking his scabbard and tightening his belt.

She shook her head sorrowfully. "If there's one thing I've learned very well, it's that there's always another way."

* * *

It had taken all of Emma's persuasive skills to get Hook to agree to her visits above deck. She had pleaded for a ray of sunshine to light her face, to smell the ocean, to see the beauty of Neverland. Hook had grimaced and excused the landscape, stating that it was cursed with Pan's darkness and unfit for her eyes. Well, she had not accepted "no" for an answer, and for the time being, he was letting her be. She had stood firm, and now she was standing by the bow of the  _Jolly Roger_ , drinking in the sight before her.

She found it strange that the crew had any work to do at all, considering that they were pinned in the same space and time, drifting on a boundless sea with no opponents or storms. It was one explanation why they were sitting around most of the day, drinking grog or playing card games non-stop. In a word, they were bored. And bored pirate crews usually meant trouble. But Emma no longer cared about her safety. She had stopped caring long ago.

Still, there was no need to worry in the first place, seeing as most of Hook's men were either in awe or frightened of her. A woman who spoke to mermaids must seem like such a danger, Emma mused to herself. But didn't they know? It had been the sea calling. She had simply answered it.

"Please, Miss, but could I ask you something?"

She turned to see a boy of no older than fourteen staring at her, his expression composed partly of admiration, curiosity, and fear. He must be a cabin boy. Trying to muster a smile, she replied, "What's your name?"

He blushed, wringing his hands nervously. "David."

A pang of hurt struck her heart, and she faltered. "David...that is...a strong name," Emma stammered. "Well, David, what do you wish of me?" He was only a boy, so he couldn't possibly understand any of this. Maybe he wasn't innocent, but he was ignorant. He didn't even know who she was.

He looked up at her shyly through his eyelashes. "Are you an angel?"

The absurdity of such a question should have made her burst into laughter, but the memory of Hook's words echoed back to her, and she found David's naïve conclusion charming rather than daft.

"I'm as human as you are," she explained kindly.

He didn't look convinced, his brown locks shifting as he shook his head. "Only a mermaid ― or an angel ― could have sung like you did that night we were attacked. Why, even the Cap'n mentioned that―" Suddenly he fell silent, snapping his jaw shut.

She whispered, "He mentioned what?"

David peered down at his scuffed shoes. "He thinks you're an angel ― he told all of us so, that you were above us and we were far beneath you, that we were unworthy to even speak of you. Captain Hook," he gulped, "doesn't lie."

"Oh, he lies," she murmured to herself, staring out at the velvet waves. She loved being at sea, but she hated being chained to this ship.  _Her new prison._  Hook was hiding somewhere for now, but every morning and every night, she was forced to be in close quarters with him.

He had seen her bathe, he had seen her dress ― just like he had promised ― but he had said nothing, only gaping at her like he had never seen the likes of women before.  _Not at all probable for the likes of him._  And in time, she had adjusted accordingly and done what she had learned best in the past five years ― she was completely ignoring him, silent and withdrawn during these ridiculous, humiliating spectacles. For when had she been a stranger to humiliation?

"You know," David began hesitantly, "that night, when you...you know...I could have sworn I heard my mum calling to me. She used to lullaby me to sleep when I was little, but that was so long ago I couldn't possibly 'member that...but that song you sang...it reminded me of her."

She didn't want to talk about it. "You left her for a life at sea?"

He hung his head miserably. "Nay...the Cap'n was good 'nough to take me on at Tortuga...we had a hard life, me and me mum, but it was better than nothing, and when she... I had nowhere to go."

"You're an orphan," she stated softly, finally seeing the traces of hardship and suffering in his eyes when he gazed at her directly. Was she growing so cold inside that she could no longer acknowledge the pain of others? "But you won't join Pan?"

David scoffed. "I've not been abandoned, and I know exactly where I belong. It's just that..." His features softened. "When I heard your voice, I saw my mother again...even if it was just a glimpse. And the darkness that covers Neverland...well, it doesn't seem so dark anymore."

Emma smiled sadly, the faces of all she loved glowing in the fading light. Now that she was singing all the time, she could see them. She sang to herself when Hook was fast asleep, a wordless tune that became a mournful lament. She sang to the walls a hopeful litany when she was alone, with only wood and air and spirits to hear it. And when she was outside, her hair whipped by the coursing winds, she sang deep within her heart, where only her beloveds could listen. Maybe they could really hear her. But no one else would.

The music was there. And it was only for her and for them. No one else.

But David was looking at her imploringly, and she caught a glimpse of her father in him, his warm smile and gentle eyes. This time, the song she conjured sprang forth from her lips of its own accord, not content to settle in silence, unheard and lonely. The boy was not asking her for anything. But somehow, she was helpless to give this tiny piece of her soul to him, a stranger. Had this mystical land instilled its wonder of dreams in her so fervently?

It was for all of them. It was for the abandoned and the rejected, those in solitude longing for respite. It was buried deep beneath the earth, wandering restlessly. It was a chant to the sea. Her song had words, but the sound behind them had more meaning. And naturally, the notes more than answered for themselves.

Barely noticing her surroundings or her audience, Emma sang aloud for the second time. And as she did, all of Neverland stopped...and listened.

_Graham... He had been the handsome, gentle captain of the Evil Queen's royal guard, always willing to offer a kind word and extra rations whenever he had passed by her cell. It had started with simple greetings, swiftly becoming conversations that lasted for hours. He had even excused her guards, saying he would oversee her cell. Out of all of them, he was the only humane one in the castle._

_One day, he came nearly in tears, uttering nonsense about talking wolves and puzzling dreams. Against Regina's every command, he had opened the cell, finding comfort in Emma's arms. And for the first time in her life, she wondered what it was like to fall in love._

_That was the day he revealed that Regina had taken his heart._

_Soon, their meetings became more frantic, his need to speak to her overcoming the Evil Queen's influence. It didn't matter if he was Regina's lover or her willing slave ― Emma understood. She had made him so, and he had no choice. She, however, had only been saved from the same fate ― her soul sold to the witch ― because her heart could not be taken._

_Stolen glances, fond caresses, innocent embraces. For an instant, she came alive again, freed from the black horrors of the years spent in captivity. And she liked to think Graham felt the same._

_Then...the unspeakable happened. One moment he was cleaning her wounds with soft cloth and fresh water, smiling at her like she was his salvation. He said she made his heart beat again, that she revived what he believed to be lost. And when his mouth found her own in the sweetest of kisses, she returned it tentatively, unsure if this was from mere gratitude or true affection._

_It was from both. They were both lost in the dark, and yet, they had found each other. And just when she had begun to respond to his gesture, he started to convulse in her arms, his last breath a whispered "thank you."_

_He remembered his past. He found his soul again. And now, even though her tears and heartbreak were part of the price, he was finally free._

_His heart belonged to himself again, now and forevermore._

_But hers, on the other hand...well, part of it would always be his._

Slowly, the music came to its end, and Emma opened her eyes to see the entire crew gathered on the main deck, staring at her as if she were a goddess come down from heaven. Flushing, she sidled away from David, who was giving her the widest, happiest grin she'd ever seen. In fact, this contentment was visible on all the men's faces, from Mr. Smee down to the fiercest looking swordsman. What had she done, that they were so transformed by one song?

* * *

Drawn from his rum-induced reverie, Hook's eyes snapped open.

 _That voice..._ It had to be her again.

Pummeling into his desk and then staggering to the door, he glanced one more time at the chaos within his chambers before disappearing in a fog of magic, sure of his destination.

He had to see her. To hear her. To be near her.

This distance, this riff between them... Enough was enough. She may have ordered their game of wills to be at a pause, but he was more than ready to move the next piece across the board.

Though a pirate for centuries, Captain Hook had found the most rare creature of all in his hold: a beautiful lass with hair spun of gold, one who was brave and strong and sharp-tongued.  _Emma._  She was his winsome bird, her song able to fathom his darkened, hardened heart.

She was his temptation, the answer to his redemption, his one salvation. She was his second chance.  _She would be his undoing._

The Dark One was caught in Emma Swan's subtle snare, but this was far from over. He would make sure she would fall into her own trap and know his internal conflict, the war waging inside him whenever her scent filled his senses and her presence clouded his mind.

The time for second-guessing was done.

He had decided.  _He couldn't let her go._

She would stay with him forevermore.

* * *


	5. Falling

  _'Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting –_

_'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!_

_Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!_

_Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!_

_Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'_

_Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

Her nightmares were worsening with every passing day. She didn't know how to stop them from disturbing her sleep, from shattering her consciousness ― but she would rather die than ask Hook for help.

Ever since he had witnessed her interaction with the mermaids and her performance afterwards, he seemed more wary of her than before, careful to step around her as if he were anticipating a certain reaction. The distance between them was now a chasm, one that could not be scaled by mere words, and even for the sake of civility, she wasn't sure how to bridge their mutual distrust of each other. Well, it looked like Hook didn't trust her ― and she was absolutely certain she didn't trust him.

He was clearly set on his course, his determination almost admirable...if he weren't trying to kill her meanwhile. Because that was what being his  _plaything_  would be ― utter, complete death.

There would be no return from what she would become in his hands.

That was why Emma had been quite surprised at Hook's request this morning, the sincerity in his voice taking her off guard as it had in the prison cell and at certain times during this  _trip_. It was why she was constantly fiddling with the outrageous dress she was currently wearing, adjusting it up and down and every direction in between in the hopes that it would be a little less revealing. With a sigh, she finally relented and allowed the fabric to settle unto her form naturally so that again, she was exposed (if she wasn't enough already). Her body, that is. Her soul, however, would be more protected from him then last time.

Red. What a suitable color he had chosen, the various shades somehow complimenting her until she could only envision red and gold, a mixture of both greeting her when she peered at the mirror on Hook's dresser. It had been a long while since she had felt like this ― giddy, shy, embarrassed, slightly proud and slightly ashamed ― on seeing her reflection.

Over the past few weeks ― or had it been months already in Neverland "time"? ― she had reluctantly agreed that Hook's elegance and taste, lascivious and decadent as it was, matched her own. And it wasn't just the clothes he offered her or how his lifestyle was designed with an artistic flair that could only belong to him. Hook was like an incarnation of another world, one that had long died, and she secretly found it fascinating. Never had she seen such manners and decorum in a man on the occasion the Dark One chose to exhibit them, and when he tried, she believed he could be very charming.  _Could_  be. Not like her father, but in a way that was solely Hook's. Additionally, his smoldering appearance and stimulating voice affirmed her opinion more.  _A gentleman in wolf's clothing._

For once, Hook had invited her to dinner instead of commanding her to join his side. If someone had asked Emma what she found most perplexing and frustrating of her captivity so far, she would not say that it was having to dress and undress in front of an attractive man who obviously wanted her. She also would not say that it was having to submit to the touch of his hand ― that strong, firm, oddly gentle hand that was all too aware and responsive ― when he helped her to bathe, his gaze following her every movement and setting every vein, muscle, and sinew on fire with some strange, twisted form of desire.

No, it was during moments like these, when Hook decided to convert his hate and the dark void in his eyes for shining light and honesty, that she wanted to scream. She couldn't figure him out. She couldn't rely on what she thought she knew when he would come and turn all that around in an instant. Still, she assumed that it was Light fighting with Dark, and she let it be. After all, she couldn't change someone who wanted to use someone else to change himself, just like she couldn't teach a grown man to see right from wrong. He knew better than that. And, after all, he  _was_  the Dark One.

Tentatively touching the simple chignon she had arranged her hair into, Emma fidgeted in her chair as she waited for Hook to appear. When the candles lit themselves and the tablecloth began to glow, she knew he would soon arrive. It was only a matter of when.

Which was why she never expected to hear a voice ― one that most certainly did not belong to Hook ― whisper in the darkness, obscured by the shadows created by dim candlelight.

"Hello,  _Savior_."

* * *

When Emma had pleaded for him to grant her the least bit of solitude by giving her a cabin of her own, he had adamantly refused. Time away from her was not something Hook wanted.

True, there were nights when he desperately wanted to send the princess back to where she came from, hating the effect she had on him. He dreaded holding her in his arms, feeling her hesitation and quiet contemplation whenever he was near her, seeing her beauteous face and form in his dreams and waking thoughts. In her presence, he was young again, a foolish, naïve boy of a sailor who believed in good form and honor above all else. The pirate was still there, but he was only adding fuel to the fire within, contributing passion and the will to never give up on attaining what he was seeking. It was downright despicable, how hard and fast he had fallen.

She had created a breach in the burden he unwillingly carried, the darkness sitting on his shoulders and weighing him down, and while he could not yet fathom of what significance that development was, he was more motivated than ever to win Emma.

Win her body, win her heart. Win all that she had to offer and give her what he could of himself.

This, of course, was unexpected. That he had let go of Milah to pursue this Swan. He didn't even remember when things had changed ― Neverland did that to a person. But they had, and Emma...well, she was all he wanted and needed. Simple.  _But complex._

And now he could make use of that voice she possessed, use its existence to pull her further under his thrall. He would tread far to slide under her skin until she wouldn't be able to escape from what they were, from all they should be. He felt like he had known her his entire life, that somehow they were bound. And every time he found himself in a... _compromising_  situation with her, her skin so close to melding with his own, his blood nearly boiled with the desire to make her see the truth. To make her want him back, the way he had wanted her since first seeing her. To make her realize that they were a perfect match. Body for body, soul for soul.

God, just the thought of her lips on his, those slender hands touching him, the urge to pull her beneath him and make the dream she abhorred and he loved a reality ― at times, it drove him mad. He would become restless on deck, desperate to find any occupation to keep his imaginings at bay, the spur to action digging into his veins. The images of how he wanted to take Emma, to introduce her to pleasure beyond reckoning...to hear her cry out his true name when he brought her to the final threshold with him, her body pulsing under his.

Hook groaned inwardly as he took another long drink from the bottle of rum, not bothering to settle for a glass or even a cup. He needed the sting and the dull ache of liquid courage to prepare for the siren awaiting him in his chambers, to restrain his hand and his mouth so that she would not shy away from him and let them grow further apart.

Well, it was now or... Sighing in frustration, he closed his eyes as the misty smoke of magic took him under its wing and departed when he was finally where he most needed to be.

* * *

"You look very uncomfortable, my lovely Emma," he remarked, a smirk widening his lips when she peered down her lap. "Is the food not to your liking or...is it the present company?"

Emma shook her head in answer to both, not wanting to arouse his anger. Instead, she kept silent, toying with the strands of vegetables and meat on her plate, her appetite fled.

The next moment, Hook was sitting beside her, taking one of her hands in his and pushing cutlery away. Slowly, he lifted it up to his mouth and brushed faint kisses over it, the challenging glint in his eyes compelling her to just try and rip it away from him.

She didn't. She let him do as he wished, willing herself to ignore everything she felt. It was easy to do, after spending years under Regina's cruel thumb. It was harder to pretend the blaze ignited within wasn't there, purring in satisfaction when Hook continued to touch her, though it was more in comfort than out of lust.

_Stranger and stranger..._

"Would you sing for me, Emma?" His voice was a strain of honey, smooth and adhering to her senses. However, the question in his tone...the uncertainty...the longing... It undid her. She stood up and walked toward the open windows, quelling the need for solitude as best she could. How ironic, that after endless days and nights of wanting someone to talk to, to drive away the looming cloud of insanity, she desired nothing more than to be alone with her thoughts.

Or maybe she just wanted Hook to disappear.

But he wouldn't let her escape him. Persistent, he cornered her and gazed at her inquiringly. There was darkness, but she caught a glimpse of  _something_  in his eyes, and she couldn't quite define it.

It could be light. But she wasn't going to redeem him or try to seek it out.

"I wouldn't know what to sing for you," she retorted, flinching when his barks of laughter hit her ears.

"Sing me a love song, lass," he answered slyly, lips upturned and decidedly amused.

Swallowing hard at how he devoured the sight of her, his glances becoming too heated, Emma moved toward the bed, gathering her wits while she seated herself on the soft sheets.

She couldn't bear to look at Hook when she sang of remembrance, of a man asking his beloved to never forget him, that holding on to their love was the best way to honor his memory. Every note was solemn and sweet and aching with that sinister pull of death and all it changed ― and with every drawn-out phrase, every rise of the pitch, every run of the key, the music brought her closing to understanding the mystery that was Hook. When it ended, she herself was left speechless.

He was affected by the song, no doubt about that. His mouth was set in a firm line ― he was obviously scowling ― and his posture was bowed, a sign of apprehension. She saw his profile highlighted by the demure candlelight, and the shadowed beauty of it made her gasp.

Rotating on his heels to face her, the pirate captain stared smolderingly at Emma before nearly lunging at her and pulling her up into his arms. His kisses were desperate and passionate, his teeth drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and earning a moan from her, his tongue entangling with hers as he wordlessly demanded  _more, more, more_. His good hand was fondling her behind, pressing her hips onto his and rolling them slowly, while his left kept her in place.

She had never, ever been accosted like this. She had never been pursued so relentlessly by a man, let alone one like Hook. He made no pretense of his ardor and his desire for her body, his hand following the path of her spine until it circled under her bust and cupped her breast.

During the stoked fire of their embrace, he unwittingly whispered one word by her ear:  _Milah._

Horrified and chagrined, Emma tore herself away from him, feeling oddly hurt and weak and  _jealous_. Hundreds of years he had sworn to wreak vengeance on his love's killer. He had sacrificed his well-being, his very self, to ensure the act of revenge would last. And still, after everything, he saw only  _her_. Not Emma. Not anyone but the former Dark One's wife.

How utterly stupid of her:  _of course_  she was merely his means to an end. Why had she, for an instant, forgotten? What a fool she would be if she actually believed―

"You should know by now," she snapped bitingly, "that the seduction of any woman will not work if you tell her she's a replacement for another."

He was gaping at her, appearing to be very, very...lost. So lost, that she wondered where he had been when he had ground into her, when his lips had nearly swallowed her own. It was all for Milah, wasn't it? He was imagining her all the time, picturing her face when they... It was all pretense.

Breathing deeply to still her heart, Emma bit her lip anxiously and fixed her gaze on the full moon hanging in the dark blue sky. She didn't want to hear his excuses. She didn't want to hear  _anything_.

She wanted him to just  _leave_.

When the silence continued, she commented absently, "You're not the only one who knows about sacrifice, Hook."

Now was the time to strike. Her stomach clenched, and when the bile made it contract, she realized from where this flare of resentment stemmed.

She wanted him to hurt. She wanted to hurt him for this twisted, mindless fascination they held for each other. She wanted him to hate her, for his own sake ― and she couldn't understand why she cared.

She wished she had never laid eyes on him. She wished... _she had never allowed him to kiss her._

"See, my mother," her voice broke on the word, "used to tell me a story when I was young. It always made me sad, but I loved it all the same ― because it was true." Her breath quickened, and she fiddled with the swan locket around her neck, the one she had had since she was a little girl. "There was a nightingale who overheard a young man's woes in love, how he strove to win his sweetheart's affections. As she listened outside his open window, she heard him moan over the girl's demand for a red, red rose ― impossible to find in the middle of winter. Nevertheless, if he did not find it, he would not have her love."

She sighed, peeking at Hook, who stood as one transfixed, his eyes never leaving her face. He was listening. "And the nightingale said to herself, 'This must be true love. For love is sacrifice. Love is conquering the impossible.'"

"And the bird flew high and low until she found a familiar grove, where wild roses grew in abundance. From bush to bush, she sought a red rose, finally finding the rosebush that could grant her request." Emma's voice dropped, a whisper that clutched at impending horror and tragedy. "But there was a terrible, terrible price to be paid: the nightingale's heart blood, in exchange for one pure red rose. And that was not all: she must sing her most beautiful song under the waxing moon, her breast pressed into the thorns as her life drained away. It was a life for a rose, blood to make the veins of the flower strong."

In a husky and mellow tone, Hook interrupted, "What did she do?"

The Swan princess smiled sadly, her hands enfolded on her lap as she heard Snow's soft voice, full of compassion and wonder and sorrow, narrate the rest of the story to a wide-eyed, enthralled little girl before her bedtime. "Though all who loved the nightingale's songs tried to dissuade her, she accepted the bargain. And those who heard her death song swore it moved the heavens and earth, that all in existence froze still to hear the beautiful sound ever created: the nightingale's voice. The more she sang, her heart pierced by a thorn, the more the rose bloomed. And when the bird fell, lifeless, to the ground, there was a pure red rose, fully grown. And it was on the rosebush outside the young man's window."

She gulped hard when the Dark One beckoned, wanting to hear the end. "He saw the rose the next morning ― he offered it to his sweetheart. But she scorned him, and mocked him, and turned him away derisively. Furious, the young man threw the red rose into the street, where passing carriages and wagons crushed it under their wheels."

Looking up, she boldly stared into Hook's eyes, daring him to look away. "No one saw the dead nightingale beneath the young man's window. No one smelt the rich perfume that faded into the filthy cobblestones. No one knew, except those who had witnessed it, what the nightingale had sacrificed for a rose ― for love. And it wasn't her love ― it was another's. She gave her life for it ― gave her life in vain. But no one could say she was a fool."

The lines of his features were taut, his stance tense. If Emma were to compare him to the weather, she'd say a mighty storm was brewing.

"What are you trying to say, lass?" He ground his teeth together, visibly enraged. "That my sacrifice was in vain, or that my love for Milah was a farce?"

She was playing with fire. She was pushing him, hoping he would revile her and have no further use for her.  _Hoping he would forget his mad idea and release her. Wanting to free herself, because lives depended on it._ But she would have to sacrifice part of her heart to complete this gamble.

She stood up abruptly, walking towards the windows again and sliding her hand down the soft wood of the windowsill, the grainy texture beneath her fingers a solid reminder that this was not part of her nightmares, that there was an escape if she could manage it. That she was in control of her destiny. "When I was a little girl, Regina threatened to destroy my parents' happiness by unleashing a curse ― one that would banish all of us to a world without magic, where there were no happy endings and we would have no memories. But my parents got ahold of something Rumplestiltskin wanted." Keeping her back turned to him, she inhaled the clean scent of the ocean beyond, the promise of freedom wafting temptingly by her nose. It was a terrible burden, to be so close to something you wanted and yet unable to attain it. "A magic bean, in exchange for imprisoning the Evil Queen. But what he didn't say was that he had helped create the curse ― and that I myself was the key to breaking it. Once in existence, the curse could only be obliterated forever by two personae: she for whom it had been made, and the girl who had been chosen as the Savior."

Only his curiosity was keeping the growing flames of their mutual anger from reaching their peak and exploding. She could see it ― the way he was holding himself back from approaching her...and the way she was visibly restraining herself from throwing herself out the window, if only to be free of this room and this man. Hook, the Dark One, who was hardly a man. But was he a monster?

"On finding out that Baelfire was in Neverland, Rumplestiltskin hid the bean, and he never mentioned the curse until I was older ― and word had gotten out that Regina had broken free of her prison. He used my love for my parents to undo what he had created, and, after Bae returned, nothing happened for some years ― until the Dark One disappeared." Hook was visibly fidgeting, discomfort and understanding written in his eyes. But Emma cared less about that smidgeon of guilt he carried somewhere near his blackened heart; it was time to finish her story. "He never came back, and on the eve of my eighteenth birthday..."

_You must. You must say it. Nevermind that the words will leave a gaping hole in their path._

Emma bid herself to not stammer and choke, to be strong. It didn't work. "...Regina came for the curse, demanding the scroll. When she found out...what had been done...she went mad. Before we could even blink, she took out my mother's heart...and she was going to crush it into dust. Her smile as she squeezed it tight, the satisfaction in her eyes when my father pleaded in vain for mercy..."

He was observing her...strangely. Pain was there, deeper and deeper by the second.  _Oh yes...it was because of Milah._  Because he was remembering every image, every haunting moment. Every last breath  _she_  took.  _Do it..._  "I offered her a deal. My life, in exchange for the safety of my kingdom and my parents. I wanted her to cast a binding spell, one that would prevent her from ever crossing our soil as long as she lived. As for me...I would be her prisoner. I told her...that there is no greater suffering imaginable than watching your own child die. Why then kill my parents, when she could inflict such pain on them...forever? By killing me instead? By breaking me...until there was nothing left?"

Her voice cracked, so she chose to say nothing more. It would not do to cry in front of him, to have him empathize with her. The depression Snow had fallen into during her miscarriage, when Emma was only five years old and very impressionable...the memory of her fierce, courageous mother in tears, inconsolable and unreachable, still clung to her.

"The worst," she whispered, more to herself than to Hook, "was when she had her Magic Mirror show them to me. They were  _happy_  ― another baby on the way, the kingdom now prosperous ― but I felt so betrayed and  _wronged_  by that. The guilt afterwards, at resenting their happiness, that they had found hope where I couldn't...it gnawed at me so badly that I refused to believe any of what I'd seen ― but the Evil Queen laughed in my face and told me it was I who was lying to myself. And ever since, she has baited me with the very real possibility that my parents..." A tear rolled down, dropping below. "...that everyone I've ever loved has forgotten me. That I'm just...a faint memory, put to rest in the past."

She didn't realize she was crying until her back hit wood, her body curling into a ball as she sat against the wall, feet planted forward. Wrapping her arms around her knees, Emma ignored how the beautiful gown she was wearing trailed along the floor, the decadent room around her, the man in front of her who was trying to usher her into his arms.

She pushed him away roughly. " _No!_ Leave me  _alone_!"

On his knees now, he again touched her, this time with his hand on her cheek. " _Emma_ ―"

"I don't _want_ you! I  _hate_ you!" Emma burst out, striking at him until he fell backwards in shock. The expression on his face crumbled immediately, and a flicker of sorrow appeared, masked by passing rage. Great sorrow, which stirred some undefined emotion within her... But, feeling wounded and broken, she focused on her own pain, letting it numb her reactions to his.

After he left, slamming the door behind him in lieu of exiting via magic, she couldn't fathom why the ache inside became worse.

* * *

She didn't interact with her captor for many days after their last encounter ― she recognized different forms of solitary confinement after all she had been through. It was relatively easy to lose track of time in Neverland, but she would guess it was at least a week before she caught sight of him, sulking restlessly on deck while his crew hurried to perform their daily tasks...like they had for the last millennium, no doubt, Emma scoffed to herself. Her most recent breakdown, embarrassing and inevitable, was long over and done with, but his tantrum was evidently not.

But why was she surprised? Hook was excellent at holding grudges ― one of his many talents.

Time might stand still here, but the darkness...she could feel its hypnotism, dragging the light into its depths so that nothing but blackness would remain. The "land where dreams were born" was thoroughly poisoned, the reason why her nightmares were so corrupted, and she struggled to picture how Hook could withstand the land's piercing energy. Her singing, undisturbed, continued to be her one companion as she soldiered on and refused to let Neverland's magic darken her heart.

If she were him, she would leave this place as fast as she could and  _damn it to hell_.

Oh, he was still irate, frustrated and angered by what she had said and implied. Would he believe she had done so for his own good? Of course not. However...slowly and surely, despite herself and what she wanted to feel, she found herself missing his company, holed up in his room with only reminders of him and what kind of man he was. Well,  _had been_.

Every morning, she'd awaken to find food and drink awaiting her. Every evening, dinner was brought to her by one of the crewmembers ― it seemed David and Mr. Smee had fought for and won that  _privilege_ , as they called it ― and then she'd eat in silence. Surrounded by his essence and his memoirs as she prepared for bed, brushing her hair in front of his vanity mirror, Emma wondered what it was like to be Hook's woman.

To be loved as he had loved Milah... There were not many men who could love so faithfully and so deeply. Truth be told, she was envious of the departed woman, deeming her fortunate to have found someone who was as ardent and ―  _dare she say it?_  ― unique as he appeared to be.

Nestling into his sheets, smelling his enticing natural fragrance on the pillows, Emma lay back, her arms stretched out over her head, telling herself that being  _loved_  by an attractive man like Killian Jones meant that ― and she blushed at the admittance ― being  _made love to_  by him must be equally...fulfilling. Fleeting images of how he had shown her what it could feel like filled her mind, and in exasperation, she buried her head in between the soft cushions, willing her racing heart to stop tormenting her.

She wasn't going to even tread in that territory. It would cause much to undone, to be irremediable.

Instead, she should concentrate on the fact that this was the first time in a very long time that she had slept by herself in this bed. The first time she had had a normal bath. The first time she had been alone without fearing the next moment, that someone would barge in and begin to torture her. The relief of not being watched.  _The hopelessness that sneaked through the open windows, overwhelming her with despair..._

Disregarding Neverland's whispers, Emma instead visualized what she would do if Hook came through the door right now. If he was dejected, his shoulders slumped, she would be tempted to stand before him and run her hands through his hair. To guide him to the bed and remove the burdens he carried, starting with his majestic leather coat. To pull him back to her...to murmur in his ear that she only wanted to be safe, to be loved. To be free to choose.

And then reality would split from her fantasy, leaving her with a beautiful dream. A dream where a handsome man named Killian Jones, full of the kindness she had seen and the burning light that peeked through his façade, would come alive and kiss her, but not with a dead love's name on his lips.

He would undress her...worship her body...lavish her with affection. His mouth  _everywhere_ , his hand seeking hers. His hook gone. His bare chest against her own, his hips pressing and demonstrating how he wanted this profession to end ― with her letting go and becoming his, he becoming hers. And she would return his gestures ― oh, how she would respond, discovering him in kind, exploring his physique, tenderly capturing his lips. Showing him how much his feelings were requited, with all their secrets laid bare.  _Together, they would reach the stars._

It was the romance she desired, this unattainable love ― and, sadly, with someone who didn't exist. Maybe she could have loved Graham like that, but their time together had been too short, and she was done dwelling on what could have been. Although, it was to be acknowledged that she really didn't have any experience with men, or being courted by any men, to begin with...

She had never been that type of girl. Or maybe she had just never met her type of man.

Then, dispelling her daydreams, the toxic perfume of power erupted in the middle of the room, startling her into a sitting position. She blinked rapidly, nightgown askew on her shoulders as she tried to recover herself and ward off shock.

There, in all his black leather glory and kohl-rimmed eyes, red vest in place of steady black and hook attached, stood Captain Hook.

* * *

"I see you've been enjoying my bed during my absence, at the very least," he commented offhandedly, a slight smirk appearing when she yanked the covers up to her neck.

She didn't know what to say to him, not after their last conversation. And it seemed the man in question was stumbling over his words as well, bravado spent as the air thickened quickly from animosity unsolved. But she patiently waited.

"I was meaning...to ask you...if you would sing for me again," he finally admitted, glancing at her from under his eyelashes, hiding his hook from her sight while he partially mimicked her stance, his hand on his belt. "I could hear you...through the wood. You were singing..."

Emma half-smiled and half-frowned in wonder, puzzled by the way the order had become a request, an invitation for her to offer the skills of her voice instead of a direct demand for the experience. When he bit his lip, looking  _shy_  and  _boyish_  of all things, clearly anticipating her reply, she slipped out from her soft source of refuge, ignoring the feel of the cool floor as she strode on, not stopping until she was next to him. "I have a request too," she suggested, hands clasped behind her back. She reflexively bent her head when he met her gaze, nervously dreading the outcome of this meeting.

Would he reprimand her? Would he punish her?  _Would he hurt her?_

A warm finger stroked her jawline, settling under her chin and tilting it upward. Her lips parted in a sigh when he smiled at her ― but it was different. There was no malice, no ulterior motive. It was a genuine smile, emanating warmth. It was a smile that didn't belong to the Dark One. "What is it you wish of me, darling?"

She replied, "I wish...we could put that day behind us, when I said...all those things to you. When I told you that awful story―"

"Shh," he hushed her, thumb brushing over her lips. "I liked the tale about the wee bird ― do not regret that you told it to me. It is a story that needs to be heard...not by me, but by many others." He withdrew from her completely, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed as anxious as she was...and embarrassed... They were like two children coming to terms after an argument. "You have a gift, lass ― a knack, if you will, for seeking out the lies we tell ourselves and others...and forcing us to see the truth. I offer my apologies...for pushing you too far."

Emma shook her head in denial. "I shouldn't have...but I wanted you to know." Losing courage thanks to his intensified stare, she rushed on, "I wanted  _someone_  at least to remember my story the way it was, not the way the minstrels have embellished it."

He chuckled wryly, a lazy half-grin lighting his face. "Aye, that would be a relief for me as well ― to not become a child's bedtime story."

She cocked her head, determined to ask him at any cost. "Would...would you?" He didn't reply ― ah, he was waiting for her to finish. She cleared her throat. "Would you do the same for me...and tell me  _your_  side of the story? Let me know you better?"

He grimaced.  _Alright, so he was not enamored with the idea of spilling his soul to her after she had nearly stabbed him with subtle "taunts" about his Milah.._.

"I'll sing for you." She peered into his eyes ― eyes that always held the sea and the storms and sometimes...the sun itself, shining like a lantern on the waves. "I'll sing for you every night," she vowed, "if every night, you'll tell me a story."

"Hmm...you are quite the pirate in the making, aren't you, Swan?"

She shrugged, the mischievous smile he gave in return doing damage to her internal organs. "I'm intuitive, I guess."

He paced back and forth, considering her while he took in the state of his quarters. "A story for a song ― overstepping the boundaries between us, aren't you?"

"Just trying to be friendly," she defended, her heart nearly stopping when he laughed out loud.

"Finally, a truce."

"No..." She smiled to herself. "A  _chance_."

He paused, his jaw set. "Well, then," he decided, holding his hand out resolutely, "let's shake on our bargain, Swan."

Mortified by his loss, trying to make it invisible ― but he was blinded by his sense of pride. Like she had been by hers. All she could see was him. Whole. One person. Someone who had occupied her thoughts all these days.

Maybe the Dark One...Hook...Killian Jones...was worthy of respect.

She sidestepped him, not missing his crestfallen expression or how he lowered his hand ― but, gently, reassuringly, she drew his hook forward in its place, curving her fingers over it firmly as she grasped the device. Careful not to let them slide down the smooth metal and be cut by the tip, she tentatively shook the hook up and down, a good imitation of the other handshake they had almost shared.

_A handshake with a hook ― how surreal..._

For the first time, Emma had rendered Hook entirely at a loss for words. His gaze was burning, fixated on the unwavering image of her hand touching the one part of him that no one dared go near. A part he himself seemed to loathe.

Slowly, she let go, tucking strands of hair behind her ears as she grew self-conscious about her own appearance, the way her nightgown was too sheer. He, however, was already pulling the chair by his desk toward the bed, gesturing for her to take a seat while he continued to stand, awkwardly fidgeting with the clasps of his coat.

After she had adjusted to the rather large structure, she whispered to him, "Perhaps...perhaps we could see the stars tonight?"

His approving smile more than compensated for the moonless sky they gazed at together.

* * *

Emma couldn't recall if it had been a matter of months or years since they had started their nightly routine. In the beginning, it had been awkward, Hook transforming into his younger self when he began the storytelling, ashamed and unsure and decidedly humbled. Later on, there were stories of buried treasure, of danger, of glorious adventure...of honor and rebellion and heroism and piracy ― Captain Hook's history. But first, there were stories about only Killian Jones.

He had told her what it was like to watch his brother die in his arms after a fruitless trip to this same accursed place. He had narrated in perfect detail his decision to become a pirate, his first encounter with Milah, his uncertainty when falling in love with her. He had illustrated the day he lost his hand and his heart, painting a picture of Emma's godfather in a way she had never seen before. He had mentioned how centuries of waiting were unraveled when he plunged the Dark One's dagger into Rumplestiltskin's chest, and how the transfer of such evil power nearly killed him in the process. And at the end, he had remarked how those affected in the aftermath were innocent and undeserving of such pain...and between the lines, she read the regret in his face.

"Revenge, my dear, is an end, not a beginning...and once it is complete, the lust it provided is the reason why you are alone and no one gives a damn about you." Hook had uncorked a new bottle of rum and poured it into small shot glasses, offering one to Emma. She had taken it but didn't drink it. He, on the other hand, had gulped his share down in seconds, slamming the shot glass down on his desk and pushing it to the side.

"You dream of  _her_  and  _him_  at night, don't you?" She had marveled over the designs in the floor, not daring to peer upward.

A moment of silence later, he had gritted out, "Aye...I watch them die, and then Providence blesses me by letting me relive my pain all over again." His sarcasm had bit and stung, and his head was turned toward the wall.

She had felt moved out of her body, not in control of her actions. But she wasn't at war with herself ― far from it. No, it was from within that she met this inexplicable pull...and she had met it before.  _When she had held him in his sleep...why had she done that? Why...did she feel for him?_

Sitting down beside him, she had entwined their arms. Hesitantly, she had rested her head on his shoulder, wondering if he felt as confused as she did.

_She shouldn't feel like this about him. It was wrong. But she couldn't convince her heart not to. She could hear his heartbeat, frantic and uneven. Their close proximity was affecting them both in equal measure, even if it was just from being side by side._

When he had leaned in as well, his left arm wrapping around her waist, she had closed her eyes, barely aware of when she had fallen asleep, pressed to his chest and unwilling to let go of her grip on his shirt.

She only remembered him carrying her to bed, the slightest touch upon her forehead, and a breathy murmured "Good night, love" before he had waved his hand over the room, a fabric divider separating the chamber into two and leaving her in private slumber.

She hadn't understood the next morning why the bed, vastness aside, felt so bereft.

Shaking her head, Emma brought her reflections back to the present. They had dinner together every night, Hook on the prowl during the day and anxious to speak to her every other minute. Dressed in finery and splendor, no two people could be more at odds at what was happening between them, desire and worry and enigmatic gestures developing despite everything that went against it. And when she sang...every night, new ballad or old sea shanty, he listened as one enchanted, and he never tired of her. Well, at least she had gathered as much from his expression.

He couldn't possibly want her for more than a roll in the sheets to break his curse, so she couldn't possibly be having second thoughts about this...this... _dalliance_. He was the  _Dark One_ , for God's sake. How did she keep forgetting that very important detail?

She wouldn't yield to him. She  _couldn't_. But time passed, frozen or not, and her walls were wearing down, letting him in. He was dispelling her sorrows ― that, or Neverland's powerful spell was causing her to forget ― and in spite of her resolve, her promised hatred, and her doubts, he was winning their fight.

He wouldn't touch her unless she initiated contact first. He would let her sleep alone in his bed, bathe by herself, dress herself ― and though she had searched his quarters once to make sure there wasn't another magic mirror hidden somewhere, she accepted these small courtesies. In some small measure, secretly and truly, she trusted him.

However, she knew the darkness still hovered over him, his nightmares no better than hers. But she would carefully slip through the divider in the middle of the night, find the bed he had magicked for himself right by his desk, and watch over him while he slept, singing lullabies and caressing his hair until he was relieved. And then she would depart before he would awaken.

Sometimes, when she was brave enough to admit the truth to herself, she found herself wanting to embrace him, to feel his lips on hers again. The closer she was to him...

_The closer she was to being conquered._

Still...it wasn't like that anymore. The battle between them ― waged for dominance, for control, for  _feelings_  ― was at an end.  _Or was it?_

"I was right ― you are a siren, Emma Swan, come to haunt me till I die."

Hook tugged at his cravat one more time, a spot of red amid a sea of black. White shirt, black vest, and long black overcoat, matched by long black trousers, both not made of leather. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to notice what a dashing image of a gentleman he represented right now, instead of a villainous pirate decked out in dyed cow's hide.

"Oi!"

 _Bother._  She just had to say that aloud, didn't she? Emma bit her lip, exasperated with herself.

He grinned easily at her, his smile transforming into a smirk as soon as he reached her side. "Oh, I'm not offended, love ― the confession I've been wanting to hear from you for so long more than reimburses me for your... _practical_  view of my usual attire."

She snorted in reply, rolling her eyes. Striding slowly toward the long mirror magicked especially for the occasion into the room, she gazed at her reflection, sighing at what she saw.

She was no longer emaciated, thanks to Hook's intervention, but her bones were still poking through her skin if she looked hard enough. Her hair had natural curls. God, every part of her looked so  _pale_. And her face...it was drawn and sad, the pain there making her heart wrench itself forward.

Nevermind that her lips were red and full, her features pronounced and elegant. Nevermind that the shimmering blue gown she wore accentuated every curve that declared her to be a woman.  _Nevermind what her mother would say if she could see her now, the proud Swan princess..._

She clenched her hands into fists to force herself not to cry for her parents. It didn't matter if they were happy without her, that they might have forgotten her, that she had left their lives for too long. She needed them now, with all her heart.

"Emma..." He stroked her arm, standing behind her at a reasonable distance while his eyes searched for her sight. "You look radiant, my darling little bird."

 _Little bird._  He had started calling her that, dubbing it his new favorite nickname for her. "I certainly don't feel  _radiant_ ," she countered, fiddling with her ruby teardrop earrings, the necklace of pearls around her neck nearly strangling her.

His hook resting by her waist, he placed his hand on her right shoulder, whispering, "Beautiful, on the inside and out ― and that, milady, is what counts most. For  _you_  are an exceptional beauty and a woman I respect. A woman I admire. A woman I  _want_." His lips brushed over her cheek. "Does that surprise you, Emma? That a demon like me pines for a heavenly goddess like you?"

Her breath caught in her throat. This was the closest he had come to seduction for many, many months... His voice, its smooth, melodious timbre and tone, was reaching into her soul and caressing it. And his use of words, his mastery of expression...unknowingly, she had strengthened the connection they shared by offering him the one thing no one had done for him in centuries: an opportunity to change.

She believed he had, in some ways. Now she wasn't so sure.

"Still trying to woo me, Captain?" she dared to ask, pulling his hand off of her shoulder, only to entwine their fingers.

The longing in his stare was frightening her ― not because she still feared  _him_ , but because she feared the depths of whatever it was that he claimed to feel for her. Despite her mind's obvious resistance, her body's ache for him had never disappeared.

The Dark One faded when she was with him. The more and more time they had spent together, the more she had learned how the dark craves the light. But there was a price. A price where light broke through the dark, not subduing it...but freeing it. His power seemed to be weakening while he was near her, but true to his nature, Hook didn't care. He was more interested in captivating her attention than in pursuing his escaped magic.

After all, that was what this was all about, wasn't it? Ending his curse of being the Dark One?

_Remember that, Emma. Don't lose sight of who you are._

She may have buried her past regrets, but she had not forgotten what such an act would entail. The prophecy...Rumplestiltskin's prophecy...it outlined what had to be done.  _But the future was not set in stone, and prophecies only became true when you believed in them...so perhaps there was a hidden meaning beneath her godfather's cryptic words, and they were not so black and white as Hook had chosen to see..._

"It's a not a matter of courtship, love," he finally answered, "but a matter of winning."

"This is not a contest, Hook―"

"Isn't it? You have been fighting me since we met...on everything, even calling me by my real name...but that is beside the point." He turned so that they were in each other's direct line of sight. "There is no flattery here, darling ― no winsome deeds to be done. For when I win your heart," he breathed out, "it won't be because of any trickery ― it will be because you want me. That has always been, and continues to be, my main hope and desire."

That profession startled her into new realization.

_When I win your heart..._

Damn it. He had no intentions of ever freeing her. He was in it for the long haul, so he wouldn't keep his word.

Well, wasn't that what he had implied? That his obsession...was more mystifying and deeper than she had ever imagined?

It couldn't be because he  _loved_  her. No, never that. He loved Milah, and he wouldn't release her from his heart. She was his..."true love."

All this poured through Emma's mind in seconds as Hook waited impatiently for her response. It seemed that he hadn't discerned exactly what he had just said.

Good.

Putting on a weak smile meant to distract, she replied, "I think the crew is anticipating their promised merriment on deck ― perhaps we should join them now?"

"Hmm, evasion ― one of your more familiar tactics," he groaned out, seeing through her immediately. However, he conceded, his left arm held out to her.

The dubious expression he wore tugged at her, but as smoothly as she glided over to him, one hand lifting her abundant skirts so she could walk, she wrapped her arm around his proffered one, her hand resting not far above his hook. When he glanced at her, inquisitive and quite apprehensive in spite of his reserved outward demeanor, she gave him a small half-smile in encouragement and squeezed gently, her fingers encircling his wrist. Emma observed the quick grimace of agony he tried to mask with indifference ― it had hurt that he couldn't return her consoling gesture.

But, as always, the tension died out like a flickering flame, and they were back to their stance with each other ― the pirate and the princess, the Dark One and his captive.

It was strange that she was no longer afraid. Not for herself, anyway. For her loved ones, for her future...yes.

What she needed to know was...why she was afraid for  _him_.

When he opened the door with a flick of his wrist, she stammered out, "I was meaning to ask you...who taught you. How to use magic."

When they proceeded to exit the room, she barely caught his faint explanation, a raw whisper of words thrown to the wind. "The darkness did."

* * *

After the open revelry, the boisterous activities of sailors who had clearly been too long at sea, the drinking and the crude antics, Emma wanted nothing more than to sink into the soft feather bed. To not hear Hook's handsome, proud laugh when she challenged the gambling table to all or nothing ― and won on her first try. To not see the admiring way he nodded at her as they danced, stopping to lay a kiss on her hand before they conjoined again during the reel, one of his men playing the violin beautifully while the others clapped and cheered.

She was, ineffectively, trying to block out all the images and sounds of their special evening... And brushing her hair in front of Hook's vanity mirror while dressed in a flimsy nightgown and her nightrobe a scandalous shade of crimson, might not have been the best opposing visual for mental distraction.  _It was here he had kissed her scars..._

"Nothing like a healthy flush in your cheeks to show your youth." The comment was snide and contemptuous, but that wasn't what made Emma's eyes widen and her entire body start.

_No. Not again. Not now. Not him._

Taking a moment to compose herself, she straightened her posture into a perfect pose of refinement and poise, one befitting a princess. Then she turned around to face the intruder.

"What do you want?" she hissed, still holding the horsehair brush in her hand and seriously considering throwing it at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her mockingly, whipping his hand to fling the brush from her hand. It smashed into the nearest wall, the fine ivory handle breaking off from the force of his magic. "Oh, you know precisely what I want, lost girl ― I want it as much as you wanted to smash my face a moment ago."

She tried to subdue her trembling legs, hiding her clasped hands in the depths of her lap. "I don't know where he keeps it. Asking him directly...would look suspicious."

"Would it now?" He laughed cruelly. "Hook's a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem ― how hard would a pretty girl like you have to work to... _influence_  him to tell you, of his own free will?"

She swallowed hard, then glared up at him. "Alright. I don't want to do it. I don't want to find it, to ask him about it ― any of it." Her tone hardened, her voice almost a low growl. "I don't want to make a deal with  _you_."

"And yet," he replied nonchalantly, "you are happy to accept the only alternative in order to be rid of his company. But you're forgetting something,  _Princess_." His eyes darkened. "Neverland is  _mine_  ― only those who have my permission can leave it. Do you even know that the Captain has a way off this island? Without my help...you may be looking at permanent residence here ― with the pirate by your side, of course ― forever." His smirk was the emblem of malice. "How will you be reunited with your charming family otherwise?"

Opening her mouth and then shutting it, Emma digested this information. What if Hook had been lying to her all this time? What if she could never, ever leave, agreement or not?

But then that smug look of his, the double-meaning in his last words, wiped away her doubt, and she felt her anger boiling to the surface. What he asked she could never do. And she never would, no matter the consequences. Her parents wouldn't either. Standing to her full height, she was every inch the infuriated ruler.  _How she wished she had a dagger...or a sword of some kind that she could press against his lying throat―_

"You little bastard," she snarled, "how  _dare_  you threaten me or my family! How dare you demand my cooperation when I owe you nothing ―  _nothing._ "

"I sent the mermaids."

"Damn right you did."

"They're old friends."

"You're a liar."

He was eyeing her like she were some new form of entertainment for him. "Where are your manners?" he tsked condescendingly. "But since you have such qualms about my offer, about my  _credibility_ , let me present you with...oh, a free sample of how it is, working  _with_  me instead of  _against_  me." He settled himself on Hook's chair, arrogantly sprawling his feet on top of the desk. "Our dear Captain has history in dealing with me ― and like you, he has suffered when he disregarded my warnings."

She snorted in disbelief, to which he countered, "Oh, you may not believe it, but he has." He was suddenly whispering in her ear, his body too close to hers for comfort. "You see, he did my dirty work for me once upon a time during his stay ― and guess who I met because of him? Your mutual friend, Baelfire. Point is, Hook was here before ― more than once, in fact. How do you think he got away and managed to return?"

Her face blanched.  _Liam. Bae. No._

"Ah ― he didn't tell you the whole truth. No surprises there," he scoffed. "Well, Hook knows how it ends when people don't heed my advice, so here's a hint, Emma: don't dismiss our deal just yet. Try harder."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want with the dagger? What will―" she gulped, "―what will you do with it? With him?"

He only grinned malevolently at her. "Like I told you before during our little chat, Swan ― that's my business, not yours. Besides, all these questions about Hook...they seem to indicate something very important ― something even I've missed, and that doesn't happen very often." He trod backwards until he was by the open window, and her blood turned into ice. "Why, have you begun to  _care_  for our dear pirate friend, hmm? That you worry for his fate?"

She wouldn't say no. She couldn't say yes. Conflicted, Emma clenched her jaw and refused to reply. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, and Hook's face floated into her mind. No matter what he had in store for her, she was not going to betray him. After all this time, she thought of him at least as her friend.

The last thing she heard before Peter Pan vanished into thin air was his maniacal chuckle and then his echoing reminder. "No one wants to be lost forever, Princess..."

* * *

The next few weeks, Emma was withdrawn and constantly sullen, not speaking and hiding herself in the captain's chambers. She excused herself a hundred ways, saying she was feeling unwell to go on deck, she was too tired to listen to Hook's tale, her throat was too sore for her to be singing.

Those were a hundred lies.

Hook looked incredibly pained when she continued to deny him her presence and their conversations, their nightly rituals dismissed when she pretended to have already gone to sleep. But he never voiced his displeasure, a reaction that was most unusual for him. She remembered the Dark One's fury at being denied, his shifting moods. Seeing Hook be all too human was very unnerving, because it only confirmed her fears and strengthened her determination concerning her choice. Only a small part of her still disagreed, and it was quickly being stamped out. The vulnerable part, where the greatest piece of her heart and soul were.

_I have to do this ― I have to. For him. For me. For my survival._

_For us._

* * *

For Hook, it was like drowning underwater, clawing to the surface when the waves kept pulling you down and dragging you down to Davy Jones' locker.

That was how being without Emma felt these days.

At first, she was a nuisance, a necessity he had to have in order to save himself. That outlook hadn't lasted very long, to be sure. Then she was the object of his desires, a beautiful woman who aroused him to the point of insanity. When he began to fantasize about her during the day, his nightmares at night ended abruptly to bring his musings to life, the morning finding him wanting and  _wanting_ , desperate to soothe the throbbing ache left behind by a phantom-like Emma.

The instant she had taken him into her arms that night and comforted him, something had shifted between them. The way her eyes sparkled when he recalled his experiences as a pirate and a young lieutenant, the effort she put into every song she sang for him with her siren's voice...

It was like with Milah, but stronger. It was the pull of the undertow, the stubborn current, the eye of the storm. It was madness, to feel like this for Emma. Utter, blinking, sodding madness.

He had purposely restrained himself when it came to physical contact with her, not sure if he would be able to control his lesser self if their skin met for too long.

But that didn't dispel the fact that he wanted her more than life itself. At this point, he would sacrifice everything he had ― power, fortune, wealth, magic ― if she would only look at him the way he looked at her.

He had thought Neverland was hell, that that was why he was burning. But no...he was burning because of Emma...and the fire was a slow one, with intensity and fierce duration that scorched him night and day. He just had to get involved with a bloody princess, didn't he?

And he couldn't tell her anything. It would frighten her away, because she wasn't ready to hear the truth. Not yet.

Taking leave of his crew after midnight was well past ― with Emma's continued relapse and lengthy slumbers, he had no particular wish to be below deck and inside his quarters any sooner than possible ― Hook skipped down the stairs, removing his jacket and his vest as he did so, his belt and scabbard unbuckled.

He was bloody well spent today, though the routine was no different than that of the day before.

He wanted his bed. Hopefully, he would have good dreams tonight.

Unbuttoning his shirt as well to save time ― using bloody magic all the time was actually damn annoying ― Hook hung the other garments and his belt over his bad arm before he pushed the door open with his only hand.

The sight ― no, the  _vision_  that met his eyes downright startled him, the first shock he had had in centuries, and he stood there as one bewitched.

* * *

Every sinew, every vein, every throbbing, living part of him was calling out, crying for her, demanding he do something,  _anything_.

Emma, disrobed and bare before him, was decidedly too much for his overtaxed mind to handle. The bloody minx was just standing demurely there, hands clasped in front of her, her golden hair falling down on her shoulders and her back. Every inch of her body was exposed to him, a tempting portrait he hadn't viewed for probably a year, and he could gape at all he had imagined, reality being so much better.

Perfect, round breasts with rosy nipples. Slender arms and legs. A curvy figure that told of a very beautiful female, with bloody marvelous hips and thighs and what lay between them... Hair of sunshine. And her face...an angel's face. Full pink lips that needed to be devoured, green eyes that bored into his blue, and a shapely jaw and cheeks that should be kissed. And that long neck...

His gaze trailed downward and his mouth began to water. When she continued to be as still as a statue, he shook himself out of his daze as best he could and tried to speak.

It took several tries and wetting his lips to succeed.

"Emma...what are you doing?" he rasped, feeling his skin grow hot and his trousers tighten.

She stared at him unwaveringly. "I'm making my choice."

"You're―" he cleared his throat, "―you're agreeing? To be...with me?"  _To be mine?_

Nodding, she bit her bottom lip, suddenly shy on account of her display, and Hook's longing increased.  _God, she was beautiful. And offering herself to him. And still ever the diffident maiden, despite everything._

"This is what you want, isn't it? To fulfill the prophecy...so...so all can be right again?" she murmured.

Fighting against what shred of willpower was left within him became a losing battle, so Hook desisted. He wanted to succumb, for once. He had been doing what was wrong for most of his long life, because he had been hurt during what was right, and again, here he was, about to give in to his temptations. But it was right. It had to be.

This was Emma...she was right and true and honest. Although he had his inhibitions, he had never wanted anyone in his life so badly...and for once, the selfish side of him agreed with the young man who had believed solely in good form and honor.

_Be with her. Take her. Show her._

Waving his hand, the rest of his clothes vanished. "Are you real? Or am I bloody dreaming?"

Slowly, so as not to scare her, he stepped forward, first reaching down to take her hand into his. He kissed it softly, not relinquishing his hold when he stood in front of her. He took in the sight of her, skin white like a swan's feathers, her blush spreading as she gaped at his nudity.

Boldly, she lifted his hand and placed it over her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple, and she shivered.

"Do you really want this, Emma?" He wanted her, but of her own free will, and this sounded the furthest from it. Gazing into her eyes, he tentatively cupped her cheek. "You understand what this means, darling ― once we cross this line, there is no going back to the way things were."

"I thought that was a good thing?" she jested weakly. He knew she was hiding behind her words, like he had.

Because he didn't know anymore how to approach this. It was simpler when he had treated her as his prisoner and not the first real friend he had had in centuries. It was easier when he would see her and lust would cloud his senses, not this emanating warmth that was spreading to the very depths of his soul.

The cursed pirate wasn't supposed to fall in love with a lonely princess. It would impossible and improbable. It wasn't in his plans. It wasn't part of the prophecy. It was irrevocable.  _Damn the plans and damn the prophecy. They could wait, as long as he had her._

The silence grew unbearable as they danced around all the feelings that were permeating the air, their emotions overrun. He would lose himself in the small glances she bestowed on him, as they stood there awkwardly, neither willing to move.

Then Emma reached out to him, curling her hand around the nape of his neck, almost cradling his head, threading her fingers through his hair. She was leaning forward, balancing herself on her tiptoes as she strove to draw herself up to him. When her eyelashes fluttered closed, he knew what was coming next ― bloody hell, he  _welcomed_  it.

It meant no more barriers and no more walls. It meant she  _saw_  him. It meant his waiting was over.

But when her lips brushed over his, the sweet kiss of a girl who had never experienced any of this, her breasts now against his chest, his will to hold back snapped. Ignoring whatever remained of his reason, Hook took her into his arms, and with all the strength of a knowing man who felt too much and loved too deeply, he finally reciprocated. When she embraced him, hips bumping against his, her free hand resting on his shoulder, he deepened their kiss, tongues meeting and running away as his mouth captured hers, reluctant to let go.  _He would never tire of drinking in Emma Swan._

If she were to be his downfall, he would happily take the plunge ― and he would never, ever resurface.

* * *

Emma couldn't grasp the fact that this was actually happening. That Hook's hand was holding her so close, his hook and brace gone since he now trusted her with every part of him. That his body, so strong and lithe and muscular and stunning, was right beneath her fingertips. That every time she touched him, he moaned, descending once more to plunder her mouth with his own. His passionate kisses, so heated and deep and  _perfect_ , were nearly her undoing; the hope and excitement and want he exuded with every stroke of his tongue were branding her with matching ardor.

She was clutching at the sheets while he discovered and devoured every inch of her, nipping and tasting her neck as he trailed downward, his hand embedded in her hair. When his lips assailed her breasts, taking his time with each as he kissed the tender skin around, she had nearly cried out, and when he culminated his adoration by hungrily suckling her nipples, reluctant to release them, she urged him on by threading her fingers through his hair and holding his head in place.

Heat was building in her abdomen, a strange pulling and contracting even lower, a new wetness leaking out between her thighs, but she still refused to utter a sound, knowing it would be her end. She grabbed at his hair again and tugged gently, wanting another kiss. He gladly obliged, lying fully on top of her as he bent down to fulfill her request. With her skin flush against his, she could feel everything, including his rather prominent arousal. The whole experience was new and exhilarating... _and frightening_.

When his fingers traveled  _there_ , she trembled, but he murmured, "It's alright, my little bird ― let me take care of you, love."

"But I've never―" she whimpered.

"I know," he soothed. "Trust me, darling ― I'll make sure you feel little pain."

Bringing her up for another searing kiss, he wrapped his arms behind her back and gently lifted her so that he was on his knees before her, her legs resting on either side of him. Slowly, his hand drifted downwards, and he drew circles on her inner thighs until his thumb was near her inner lips. When he parted them and inserted one finger in, her back arched and her head tilted backwards, lost in this sensation of pleasure he was giving her. He caressed inside, steadily going in and out until every fiber of her being was ablaze and her hands were clasped around his neck, her lips parted in a silent gasp.

Then there was light, blinding and glowing and burning ― and she fell apart like a dying star. She was so consumed by the growing pleasure that she stretched her neck until she could meld Hook's lips with her own, open mouths joining and his deep groans echoing in her ears and vibrating through her body.

Wetness ― her wetness, evidence of her own arousal ― was on his fingertips, and to her simultaneous horror and amazement, he  _licked_  them clean.

"You are pure ambrosia, Emma," he moaned, his erection touching her stomach. She shuddered as he kissed down the valley of her breasts, past her hips, until his lips were  _there_  again, and his mouth was doing all manner of wicked things to her.

When his head was between her thighs and his tongue slipped inside her, lapping and licking and  _thrusting_ , she thought she would die, the climax of light taking her to heaven a second time.  _But was there no better cause than to die for love?_

No.  _No_. This wasn't about love. She had promised herself that this would be her  _sacrifice_  for love, that she was doing this to save herself...and him. But mostly herself. She wasn't supposed to feel anything meanwhile while she gave herself to him. This was purely physical...wasn't it?

But she was giving him her  _virginity_ , a gift intended for her future husband. And he wasn't simply ravishing her ― he was  _making love_  to her, the signs in the gentleness in his movements, and how he put her needs before his own. The way he poured his very essence into every gesture, and how he laid himself naked before her, mind and soul.

Inside, where no one else could see, her heart was crying for what she would have to do.

For now, she tried to follow his lead, kissing along his neck and chest, entangling his pendants, savoring how his eyes closed when she licked at one of his nipples. She kissed every scar and every mark, freeing one hand to bring his left arm to her face and, in front of his smoldering gaze, kissed the end of his stump. She was rewarded with a fierce kiss that left her breathless, and he took advantage of her winded state by fondling her behind and then cupping her breast, lowering his mouth again to pleasure her.

His lips on her nipples a second time, his tongue participating in full measure, had her biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep from saying his name, from chanting it like a hymn of praise.

" _Emma_." He whispered it pleadingly. " _Please, love ― don't be afraid to say my name. My true name. Say my name, lass ― say it. Please._ " She stiffened, because his tone... Looking up into his eyes, dilated from lust and wild with need, she gasped at what she read there.

_It cannot be. Is the same written in my eyes?_

She bit her lip again and shook her head desperately, fighting back tears, so with a sigh, he relented. "As you wish." Then he began to part her thighs with his knee, spreading her so that she was fully exposed to him.

The moment had come, and Emma was suddenly petrified, peering at him in terror. It was going to hurt...it was going to hurt so much...

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he rasped, his husky voice prodding at the contractions stirring inside her again.

He lowered her onto the bed after she kissed him thoroughly to show her dissent with his suggestion, his hand caressing her back. Seeing his hard, throbbing member above her, she realized what was about to happen, the past dream about to come true, and she squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into the sheets.

But he quietly disentangled her hands from their stronghold and wrapped them around his neck instead. "Hold on to me, Emma ―  _hold on to me_ ," he intoned. It sounded more like a wish than a demand.

She complied, knowing that this would make it all the more personal, but her concentration was set on the event at hand.

Balancing himself on his left arm, he grasped her hip with his hand as he guided himself into her, pain seeping through her veins when he broke through her tangible innocence. Tears streamed down her cheeks against her will, and in a truly loving reaction, he wiped them away, planting soft, tender kisses all over her face, brushing sweaty hair away from her eyes as he pushed until he was fully seated in her. "I'm sorry, my little bird," he placated. "I'm so sorry, my lass ― let me make it up to you..."

Then, he started to move, and she was lost again.

Each time he entered her and then withdrew was excruciating at first, her walls sore and tight from having never been... _used_  like this before. However, slowly but surely, her hips began to meet his for every thrust, glorious pleasure chasing away the remnants of the initial pain. When he felt her move in time with him, he began to ride her faster and harder, almost frantically. His moans and grunts and groans were erotic sounds that stirred her onward. What was the past, compared to the present? Compared to  _him_?

And still, she couldn't speak his name, gritting her teeth together as he hit spots inside her that had her body reverberating from pleasure. But the things he was whispering into her ear were making her blush scarlet, and he was sucking and biting on her earlobe shamelessly... " _Mine_  ― all mine," he growled, his hand snaking between them to touch her where they were united in the flesh.

His evident desire for her was tearing her into pieces ― she could sense how long he had waited for this moment. She ran her hands up his chest and down his back, gripping his behind in order to push him farther and farther inside her.

When her climax reached its peak, she came harder than the two times she had before, blood in her mouth from holding back her screams. When he followed, releasing his seed into her with a loud groan, her heart ultimately shattered at his next words.

"Emma!  _Emma..._ " he cried out, embracing her to him. "Emma...Emma, I love you! I love you, I love you,  _I love you, Emma_. I love you so bloody much...I  _need_  you. My beautiful siren, my little bird, my Emma...how much I love you..."

She wanted to claw out the sounds of his profession, shrieking inside at the thought that she couldn't say it back to him ― not when his life was endangered. Not when she had to complete her purpose. This had to work.  _It had to._

Her orgasm was lasting much longer, and so was his ― the effect they had on each other gave Emma hope. Perhaps their lovemaking was the key to the prophecy. Then light came from under her eyelids, and she felt that too familiar ache of magic running across, her eyes reflexively opening.

It was like light and dark were literally intertwining around them, tendrils of both swirling until they were bound like two twisting ivy vines. She couldn't for the life of her understand where the other magic had come from, the Dark One's sinister power coiling through the air to stop before her, sinking into her skin and into Killian's.  _Killian's? Oh God..._

Then, as if it had never happened at all, they were left alone in the candlelight, Killian breathing hard as he rested his forehead against hers, his member still inside her. His face lit up when he smiled contentedly, and she was so tempted to return it. Emma swallowed hard, preparing for how much pain and anguish was just around the corner ― for both of them.  _And she was going to be the cause of it ― she didn't want to be. But nothing had changed._

 _One last chance to walk away from this_ , her heart begged,  _so you can be with him, like this, forever ― he can be everything for you._   _No_ , her mind countered coldly,  _you must do this_.  _There are lives at stake, here and back home_.

Home.  _Home_. She had to go home. Thinking of her parents, her resolve hardened until it was impenetrable.

* * *

After he pulled out from her and sought to enfold her in his arms, she tore herself away from him, turning on her side so she was facing the opposite wall. When he curled his arm longingly around her waist, trying to bring her closer to him, she slapped his hand away.

"What are you doing?" he choked out raggedly, his audible hurt and heartbreak striking at her within.

She only buried herself further into the covers, seeking out the coverlet to hide her naked body. He caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss onto it. She wrenched it away. "Why?" he begged, his voice breaking. "We...we just  _made love_ , here, in  _my_  bed.  _You_  offered yourself to me, Emma," he accused, " _you_  gave yourself to me ― you  _wanted_  me! Why do you turn from me? Why do this to me now, when I've given you my love? My  _heart_?" He suddenly flipped her on her other side so that she was facing him. "Has all of this been some kind of trick? I thought we were past playing games with each other."

 _He didn't even care that that his curse was still intact and unbroken, that she had failed._  She couldn't stand the sight of him at the moment, his glistening eyes ―  _such an exquisite shade of blue_  ― searching hers for some viable explanation, some plausible reason. The tears dripping from beneath her eyelids was deplorable ―  _damn it that she had gotten so emotional_  ― and he took it as a sign of regret. He began to find her again, raining kisses down on her shoulders, his hand reaching for her as he moved closer, hovering over her.

Biting back a retort, she yanked herself out of the bed, the force of which nearly threw him off on the side and onto the ground. She tried to search for her clothes, and on finding only her robe ―  _the one he had created for her, with a winning smirk on his face and his twinkling gaze fixated on hers_  ― she pulled it on quickly, fumbling with the ties.

Then, nearly stumbling on her shaky legs as she attempted to walk and feeling the depth of the soreness between her thighs, she started to sob, dropping to her knees on the cold wooden floor.

She was no longer a maiden.  _She was his._  She had just slept with the Dark One.  _She was his. He had marked her as his._  Killian's interpretation of the prophecy was all wrong―

When he tried to scoop her into his arms and carry her back to bed, she let him, too exhausted to argue. But she still refused all of his comfort, curling into a ball and crying into her pillow.

" _Emma..._  Darling, at least tell me what's wrong ― what  _I_  did wrong." He sounded so devastated and agonized by her rejection of him. "I want to remedy this ― I want to see you smile again. I want your love...that's all I want from you, I swear it. Nothing else. I want to see you  _happy_ , Emma―"

"No, you don't," she managed to stammer out between sobs. Hiccuping, she took a deep breath and continued, ignoring her tears. "If you had truly loved me, you would have let me go when I asked you ― but no, you wanted me to  _buy_  my freedom with  _sex_. And guess what?" she snapped, turning to glare at him. "My love was not part of the bargain, so consider our  _deal_  complete. You did what you wanted to my body, but you don't have my heart or my soul.  _Savvy?_ "

The agony that ripped across his expression was making her bleed inside, but she carried on, wanting him to hate her completely so this would be over. "You can't mean that," he finally replied, gaping at her disbelievingly. "Not after everything we just shared. Not after everything we've been to each other over the past months, the past  _year_."

She sat up abruptly, fingering the robe. "Give me my clothes."

His eyes narrowed, his lips forming a pout. "No."

"I thought you were a  _gentleman_ ," she sneered.

He raised a brow, and the smirk he delivered was wicked enough to match Pan's. "Maybe I'm a gentleman during the day, but at night, I'm a pirate who wants to  _ravish_  his conquest until she can't even  _walk,_ " he purred, his leer devilish as he eyed her hungrily, his own form uncovered.

Scoffing coldly at his attempts at seduction, she crossed her arms over her chest as she paced by the open window. Soon after, she listened to his footsteps and felt him behind her, his breath fanning her flushed skin.

She remembered the night he had first danced with her, even though there was no music. The way he had smiled, how she had laughed. The bond between them.

How she was killing it now, with every dagger her words sent into his heart.

"Alright, m'dear ― I'll make you another deal, since you despise me so much that you wish to flee," he said scornfully into her ear.

When she didn't turn, he spun her around forcefully. "At least look at me when I'm speaking to you, Swan!"

He was still in the nude, and his eyes were cindering coals in the darkness. The moonlight cast light and shadows on him, tragically beautiful and tormented. Emma wanted nothing more than to defy her decision and take him into  _her_  arms, to make love to  _him_.

Reading her desire for him in her gaze, he clenched his jaw, his arousal already visible. Emma sighed and looked down. This wasn't good.

"Tell me the truth, love," he bid. "Tell me...that you have never cared for me," his voice cracked again, "and that you felt nothing as I loved you and gave all of myself to you. Tell me it's true, and you can go free."

"Why does it matter," she returned, "since you never had any intention of freeing me in the first place?" He couldn't meet her eyes. "Did you?"

His answer was so soft and quiet she barely heard it. "No, I didn't." Then she saw him, hardened and fiery. "But that doesn't change anything. Take my deal. Tell me. Tell me, Emma, that feeling me inside you, the way I brought you to life, didn't move you," he huskily whispered. "Tell me that when we shared our stories and our bodies ― after we shared our very souls ― you couldn't bear to be around me, that you wish for nothing more than to leave me. Tell me...all of that...and I will let you go."

 _Freedom._  Freedom right in her grasp. And all she had to do was look him in the eye and confess her undying hatred for him.

She struggled to speak, moistening her lips several times, but no response came out.  _She couldn't do this. She couldn't willingly break him like she had been broken. He had suffered enough._

She felt herself blush deeply when she peered into his eyes as he patiently waited for her to reply. "Killian..."  _It was the first time she had said his real name..._  She knew she was on the verge of tears again, and it was only a small amount of inner strength that was holding them back. " _I can't_."

He exhaled deeply, relief entering his expression. But then there was something else ― dangerous passion. "Then, Emma, you know exactly why...I cannot let you go."

Before she could fight him, she inhaled a sweetly scent, coughing. Then her vision was all blackness, and she felt nothing at all.

* * *

A magical gilded cage, with bars made not of brass, but of dark magic. Only the weaver of the spell could walk through the bars, while the prisoner had no way of escaping what had been designed to enslave him.

In this case, it was she.

Emma was huddled in the middle of said cage, which was actually the former brig ― or so a kindly Mr. Smee had informed her. It was clean and dry, but a prison nonetheless ― and she was here to pay for her sins.

For being unwilling to submit to Killian.

For not admitting her darkest secret.

_That she had been captivated by Hook, the Dark One, Killian Jones. That she loved this man too much to stay. That she had to do what was right before she did what she wanted._

Leaning her head back, she wondered how much longer she would have to be confined in this ridiculous contraption because Killian didn't trust her not to escape.

She chuckled mirthlessly to herself. They were in  _Neverland_. Only Pan could―

_Wait._

He had said...

But would she take a leap of faith and believe?

Casting off her despair, Emma did the only thing possible in her situation: she began to sing.

* * *

_Think of home, think of Mom and Dad, think of your kingdom, think of it all. Plead for it, ask for it, love it, love it, love it ― let your love fill your senses until you are filled to the brim and you overflow ―_

The power inside grew to its apex as she focused on her great love for her parents and for home, for all she had sacrificed and all she still had. She sang a terrible love song, where love only lives through death. She sang a mourning song, where she bemoaned her fate and the destinies of those who could not choose. She sang and sang until the music was overwhelming her, filling her, consuming her―

Combined with her love, it was too much. It was liberating.

Her heart sprang forth, and with a flash of truly golden light, a mighty force knocked Emma off her feet and shook the cage in its reckoning.

When she timidly looked up, the bars were gone, obliterated.

And on peeking out the window to confirm her assumptions, she acted on the proffered initiative.

She ran.

* * *

"How nice of you to join me, Princess," Pan drawled, admiring his handiwork. The entire crew of the  _Jolly Roger_  stood frozen, locked in his spell, while Killian himself was bound to the mast, the rope appearing to be some sort of twine from a tree.

"Stay away from her, you bloody demon!" he snarled, struggling against his bindings even more when Pan gagged him magically.

"So..." He strode cockily across the deck. "I received your 'message,' lost girl. Ready to fulfill our deal?"

She stared at him, standing proud. "Actually, I want to...re-negotiate our terms." She had her back toward Killian so she wouldn't see his reaction.

"Hmm..." He made a show of pondering her ultimatum. "What else could you possibly have to offer me, besides possession of the Dark One's dagger?"

This time, she smirked. "My heart."

Pan laughed, especially when Killian's eyes widened and he strained against the twine until his skin began to bleed. "Why would I want the heart of the 'Savior'?" he asked, announcing her epithet in a mocking tone.

She closed her eyes. "Because you need the heart of the truest believer."

His arrogant stance faltered. "Do I, now?"

She began to circle him. "Yes...because you're very old beneath your façade of youth, aren't you? And Neverland is  _dying_  because your desire to be young forever is draining it of its magic. And you've been searching for this very special heart...for centuries."

He scowled at her. "Baelfire told you, didn't he?" he spat.

"Actually, no." She smiled weakly. "A little fairy named Tinker Bell, who managed to escape with Baelfire, told the most amazing fireside stories."

"Ah yes...her." He snorted. "You want me to open a portal for you because you  _think_  you have the heart I need?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think ― I  _know_. Regina...the Evil Queen...she also wanted my heart."

"So why didn't she take it, then?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, she bit the inside of her lip. "She thought having me feel real pain was more genuine than my being her puppet."

Apparently, after several minutes of contemplation, Pan bought her explanation, because he crooked a finger and invited her to approach. "We have a deal, Emma Swan. Come ― let's seal it."

When she slipped her hand into his, the ship began to rock back and forth, shuddering violently, and the sea gave a great shriek as if it were being torn apart.

"One portal for your heart." His eyes glinted. "After this, remember to think happy thoughts, eh?"

When he drove his hand into her chest, Emma recalled the same sensation at Regina's hands, and when he chuckled gleefully and tugged at it, she saw the Queen's evil grin when she had squeezed it.

Time stood still.

The waters raged below, turning a hellish green.

Killian was crying, the sound of her name muffled by his restraints.

And then the chessboard reset.

When Pan caught up to speed, pulling and yanking and tugging without success, Emma began to smile triumphantly. "But you see, Peter Pan," she started to say, her voice gaining volume, "there was one little,  _tiny_  problem." She felt the pressure again, and then Rumple's words came to mind:  _Magic, my child, is emotion. I feel, and it comes to my aid._ Pan looked back and forth between her and his now unseen hand, her chest glowing where it had disappeared into. She crept forward until her lips were by his ear. "My heart can't be taken."

Golden magic flashed from her fingertips, and Pan was blasted backward, falling overboard. However, a dark creature ―  _his Shadow_ , Emma thought disgustedly ― lifted his unconscious body up and carried it away, flying with the speed of light toward Neverland's center.  _Good riddance._

But the portal still twirled.

Mermaids were screeching and shrieking in the turbulent sea below, and Emma realized that their siren's song must have immobilized the men and Killian so Pan would have the opportunity to enchant them.

They weren't her friends. It was high time to be done with this place.

"Emma!" Killian was running toward her, but she created a shield between them, using her newly discovered magic to keep him at bay.

"It's time for me to leave, Killian," she stated, sadness seeping through her.  _She would miss him...so much..._

"No..." He was extending his arm, reaching out his good hand to her, his hook by his side. "Emma, no. Please...I'm sorry for all I've done, and even more for all I haven't done. I'm sorry for how I've failed." He lowered his voice. "But I need you, Emma. I want to be with you. Please, I'm  _begging_  you, darling ― please, my love.  _Please_...little bird. Stay."

She bit back a sob, her heart pounding from both Pan's attempt to literally remove it and Killian's attempt to move it with his love.

"Killian..." She smiled bravely, reaching out as well so that their fingertips would have been touching if not for the magical barrier. "There's much to be done, and my family needs me, more than ever. But happy endings start with hope, and in order to get mine...I have to leave you now. Have hope that we'll meet again."

Hearing his screams for her to stop and his passionate proclamations of love...blocking them out and turning around to find the infamous plank of the pirates...walking away from him...it was the hardest thing she had ever done. Harder than sacrificing herself to Regina. Harder than enduring all that pain for her parents' and kingdom's sake.

Treading carefully across the worn piece of wood until she was at the end, she looked back at him and whispered,  _"Killian...I love you."_

Then she stepped over the edge and jumped down into the swirling portal below, thinking of the Enchanted Forest and  _home_  before it sucked her in and the opening closed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The nightingale story Emma told Hook is an actual children's story by Oscar Wilde, "The Nightingale and the Rose." It's very beautiful and I highly recommend it ― well, all of his children's stories, really.


	6. Because You Sang to Me

_And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting_

_On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;_

_And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,_

_And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;_

_And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor_

_Shall be lifted – nevermore!_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

She still couldn't stand balls.

All the endless gossiping and flirting and dancing with worthless  _fops_  who couldn't acquire a brain to save their lives. Brazen women seeking to buy themselves a husband. The dances ― some requiring too much twirling that made her dizzy, others entertaining but a heinous mess with the wrong partner ― were currently a pain in the neck.

She had never missed the formalities of being a princess. That wasn't why she had returned. Or why she had missed the castle.

Searching for her swan pendant and then realizing  _again_  that it wasn't there and wouldn't ever be, Emma sighed before sitting down on the cushioned bench near the window, arranging the folds of her long dress to keep her hands busy. The library was a safe place to hide in, mainly because few to none of the guests downstairs would willingly leave their glasses of champagne and their hors d'oeurves and their tacky socializing and flirting for  _books_. Heavens no.

Her parents were on the dance floor, in charge of greeting and welcoming the nobles and rulers from neighboring kingdoms and far-off lands who had flocked to their doors. Her little brother was asleep in his room, surrounded by his toys and the love of two parents who would give anything to see him happy...and there was a high possibility that Snow would be visiting him within the hour ― like she had done during the past four hours.

Finally, after endless years of sorrow, their kingdom had peace again. There was a brightness in the Enchanted Forest that had not been there for ages, a quiet that spoke of no more darkness. There was light again.

But despite her joy at being reunited with Snow and David, at finding a solution to the hatred that had poisoned everything around it, Emma found herself to be unhappy. And she knew exactly why.

 _He_  was in her dreams every night, but this time, it was a nightmare to wake up and not see him beside her. His presence was in the halls she walked through, the empty chambers she visited. During the lonely walks she took around the castle grounds, even amid flowering nature. In her quarters after dark, when moonlight snuck in and illuminated the shadows hiding by the walls and under the furniture. She'd remember their moment of intimacy, physical sensations overwhelmed by how, in that moment, she had truly understood him. And to truly understand anyone ― to feel their emotions, empathize with their reactions, follow their thoughts ― was near impossible, a feat most could not accomplish. Unless you were a parent. Or you had true love.

With Killian...it had been as simple as breathing. The past year without him had constricted her lungs, clenched her insides. It was like she had no air. But she never let it show. She never let anyone see what she needed to hide.

Besides, it didn't matter. Leo had been finally declared the heir to the kingdom ― after much debate among her parents, the council, and herself ― and she was glad of it.

The future was open wide like the seas, with all in sight. And still...still, she longed for him in her most guarded, hidden thoughts, the memories of how he had loved her touching all that was around her. He was her light glowing in the darkness. He was the star she wished on every night from the sill of her bedroom window. Like her swan pendant, he was lost to her forever, but that didn't stop her from wanting him.

David and Snow were worried about her, and she knew it. Often, they would take her aside, one by one, and ask her what was wrong, what was troubling her. She'd brush their concerns away like errant cobwebs, excusing herself. Excusing her heart's greatest hope.

It was no mystery how she had been captured by him, but she could not pinpoint the day or the hour when she had been captivated by him. One moment of time had passed onto another, and like the winding rose vines climbing over the wall beneath her tower, they had intertwined.

She wanted to know where he was right now, this instant.

She wanted to know what he was thinking.  _If he was thinking of her._ To know what he was feeling.  _Did he still feel anything for her?_

Because day after day and night after night, she prayed and cried and yearned for him, and she hid it beneath the love she wore like a garment, her deepest secret.

The love she would always have for her parents and her baby brother and her subjects. The love she held for a kingdom that would always be her home but was no longer hers. The love she had finally found for herself, acceptance and esteem growing with each passing day.

But it was her love for one Killian Jones that burned more fiercely than any other, tempting images stoking the flames perilously.

_His mouth torturing her skin. His fingers tracing the curves of her breasts. His stubble marking a trail down her chest as he dared to adorn her with the marks of his teeth and tongue. And then that second in time when he had given and taken and then given all of himself in one strong thrust, clutching at her soul as their bodies melded into one form..._

_Emma, I love you. My darling little bird, how much I―_

She hissed inwardly, pushing away those thrilling sounds, that passionate voice. The memory of those words hurt, so much at times that she wished she were bleeding instead, physical pain more endurable that this constant ache inside that never went away.  _Where are you?_

Had he forgiven her for leaving him in Neverland? Or did he hate her now, wishing her ill as he had Rumplestiltskin? Had he stopped fighting? Had he given up?

Or did he...did he  _understand_?

Moving to the outdoor balcony, Emma ignored the restless wind that chilled her exposed skin, reveling instead in the night's upward display. It was almost a taunt, that freedom that only the sky and ocean had. There were no walls and no fences, no bounds and no ends. There were only beginnings...

_Second star to the right and straight on till morning._

He was never coming back to her, was he? And she would never... _she couldn't_...

The thought swept through her mind like a whirlwind, leaving it in a twisted state of confusion. She had risked everything to get the hell  _out_  of Neverland, and there was no way on earth she was going back to find  _him_.

The pirate who had kidnapped her.

The Dark One who had deflowered her.

The man who had the whole of her heart, even though it was firming beating in her chest.

She couldn't forget him. And it was killing her, draining her of real dreams and the will to continue the paths she had to tread.

No matter how many suitors came her way, wishing for her hand...no matter how many times her parents told her that they wanted her to be happy, to be taken care of...it would be all for naught, because the name of Killian Jones was inscribed on her soul, and as he himself had said, there was no going back.

_Destiny be damned._

There was no undoing her love for him.

* * *

_The captain's quarters were deadly quiet and disturbingly dark. It was nighttime, no doubt, the lack of moonlight forcing the shadows to become the light. It was eerie and foreboding, a cause for dread._

_There in the corner lay a sheet-covered form, elongated and slender. The fabric rustled and shifted in movement, and when the figure turned over, the hauntingly beautiful face of Killian Jones was exposed._

_She reached out her hand, so desperate to just caress his cheek with one finger, feel his skin with one solitary touch. Seeing him here, in the bed they had shared, was too much for her._

_But she couldn't bring herself to leave, nevertheless._

_The lighting changed suddenly, and then the pirate captain stirred, stretching his arms. When he sat up, he was reaching, grasping for something that wasn't there. His eyelids opened to reveal brightest blue, and then he was wildly seeking, thrashing about until he realized that what he wanted wasn't there, his pendants swinging to and fro like small pendulums. Suddenly and with reckless abandon, he began to hit at the bed repeatedly with his hand until his hook hit the nearest pillow. A loud rip ushered a flurry of feathers into the air, surrounding him with white. Through it all, she saw him look down at both his hand and hook, turning from one to the other, and then leaning over quickly to snatch at something lying down on the small table next to his bed._

_She gasped at the silver flashing back and forth in the dim light, and her own hand flew to her neck. It couldn't be..._

_He was tearing at the brace that held his hook, pulling and yanking at the straps violently until they came undone. He was fiercely throwing it against the wall, his anger and hurt showing when the hook followed its keeper. Running his fingers frantically through his hair, he stared at her own swan pendant ― what was deemed to be lost was finally found ― before covering his face with his one hand._

_On hearing his choked sobs, his soft groans and every wrenched breath, Emma fought against the force that was restraining her from going to him, wanting so desperately to embrace him. Watching Killian break apart in front of her was too much to bear, even though she had imagined it during the year they had been separated. Every night, her dreams were only of him._

_He was searching ― for_ her _._

 _He was crying ― because of_ her _._

_He wanted her._

_And God, she wanted him._

" _My, my ― who ever would have thought that our dear Captain Hook has a heart after all?"_

_Emma gritted her teeth, her hands clenched into tight fists. Peter Pan was apparently still alive and well._

_The wretch in question was striding toward the pirate captain in a nonchalant manner that was anything but, his usual arrogant smirk widening on seeing Killian's enraged snarl. "Who ever would have thought," he sneered, "that Captain Hook ― the Dark One ― can cry? And over a woman, no less." Pan tsked, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed intently on his victim's face, his grimace set like that of a lion's when he is ready to pounce. "How touching. How..._ weak _. I expected better of you, Killian. As you say, bad form."_

" _Get out," he immediately replied, the coldness in his tone and his stare making Emma wince._

" _Oh, I don't think I will," Pan said, confidence in his gaze as it flickered down to his fingers and he pretended to inspect them. "You see, not only did your beloved Emma Swan break her deal with me, she cheated and fled...and I have a particular dislike for those who break the rules I make." He paused, pretending to contemplate his choice of words. "Actually, I take that back ― I hate the people who do that to me, and your little bitch of a whore is on that list. And unfortunately for her," he hissed, "that list is relatively short, because the others who have dared to upset me aren't alive anymore to tell the tale."_

_Killian waved his hand and magic clothed him, sheets pushed aside on the bed as he rose to face his nemesis. "Get out," he commanded hotly, visibly ignoring the exposed threat to her, "and run back to your little pack of Lost Boys, Pan. You have no business being here." The way he held his furious expression, the scorching flames of his glare kept in check, made Emma believe that he was trying very hard to control his temper and not burn Pan where he stood. Knowing the Dark One's inability to maintain restraint, she wondered how long his attempt would last._

_From what she had experienced, Pan wasn't renown for either his patience or his tendency to keep his mouth shut. In fact, it was quite the opposite, the venomous little snake poisoning the very words he spoke. "Oh, I will leave ― but not before we settle something first." He grinned, stepping forward to physically confront Killian. "You see, your Lost Girl failed to give me her heart as she promised ― so I will need something to...compensate that loss. From what my sources have told me, she isn't the truest believer, which makes my work twice as difficult." Leaning forward, the devious boy whispered into his ear, "That's where you come in, old friend."_

" _What on bloody earth makes you think," he began seethingly, "that I want anything to do with you after what you did to Emma? How you tried to play on her fears, manipulate her into betraying me, transform her doubt into―"_

" _Oh yes ― all that, and to be honest, not sorry about any of it. Your fine lassie abandoned you, Killian ― she left you to bite the dust and take the fall for her. She deserted you, betrayed you―" Pan retorted, "and where does that put you? The mighty pirate captain is now an intolerable mess of a fool, heartsick over her." Killian's face grew as dark as impending thunderclouds. "Oh, what's the matter?" Pan drawled condescendingly. "From what I remember, you also have a penchant for punishing those who break their deals with you. And Emma...well, she really did a number on you."_

_Captain Hook emerged if only for a moment, darkness crackling menacingly before it vanished and Killian looked away, not rebutting these accusations. Emma felt her heart drop and crash on the rocks of disappointment as sadness and distress returned to him, suffering written in his eyes. He appeared to be so tormented and defeated, as if he had no will to fight back anymore._

_That didn't seem to deter Pan from persisting. "But the thing I admire about you, Dark One, is your will to survive, and that you always do. So if you want to be on pacific terms with the mermaids and not have your ship broken into pieces like a child's toy, to have your safe existence here in Neverland not destroyed, you better listen to my proposal, and listen well." He snorted when the silence continued._

_Killian turned his back on him. "Emma," he rasped, "is gone. And she's_ never _coming back. Of what possible assistance could I be to you? You know I cannot cross realms without the means."_

" _Indeed. Magic always has a price, and one portal... Let me think ― was it a hundred years or ten hundred years before I can open another?" Laughing drily, Pan looked almost feral. "That is why I've...arranged something. A passage, if you will, that helps you see that what you want most."_

" _Then use it yourself._ _I want_ nothing _." Emma flinched at how his voice, sorrowful and livid and exhausted, cut sharply through her. "I want nothing...but for you to leave me alone in my misery."_

" _Now that's not true, is it?" the boy taunted. "I can't leave Neverland, and you know this ― and even if I could, I don't want to. But you...you want Emma. And you know what_ I  _want."_

" _Exactly why I will not give it to you."_

_Pan bared his teeth at him for an instant before his expression altered completely, like someone had waved a wand over his face and magically improved his disposition. "Ah well," he said with what Emma thought was a dramatic sigh, "you may be right. A chance to see the Savior isn't worth any price―"_

_Killian moved so quickly that Emma didn't know she was shrieking as he slammed his hook into the wall and then withdrew it, effectively cornering Pan as the gleaming weapon hovered over his jugular. "Speak in plain words, demon, before I tear out your throat as I should have done centuries ago!"_

_He only smiled angelically at him. Between that and his true intentions, the obvious contradiction was unsettling, to say the least. "Like you wanted to do to my son, Rumple?"_

_It took a mere second for Killian's eyes to widen from shock. "Rumplestiltskin was your son?" he gaped, his hook faltering._

_Finally, his faux smile transformed into a smirk, cruel and malicious. "Yes ― but I never should have been his father."_

_With a burst of magic, Pan removed himself from his grip and flung the Dark One against the wall. "Why come back to Neverland, Hook, if you're so anxious to leave?"_

_Stopping the impact with a flick of his wrist, Killian Jones stood tall and had wiped away any trace of sorrow from his face, hardening it with repulsion and scorn instead. "I did it all to protect her, to save her from the Evil Queen, to keep her safe with me! But you_ _," he spat out, his eyes clouded with darkness, "You are the reason for everything ― the reason that all that has come to pass has been set in motion! Rumplestiltskin ― Cora ― Regina ― and me! Your inhumanity has been the cause of all the misery and horrors that shaped us to be what we are, that made us villains!"_

" _Not so fast, sonny boy," he answered reprovingly, his tone patronizing. "You, including my son and those two witches, all made choices ― the choices that helped you become villains. I only played a small, though significant, part in that." Before Killian could react, he shook his head and began to pace back and forth. "Rumple...well, he was the price I had to pay for staying here, in Neverland." His eyes glinted dangerously. "And let me tell you, it's been quite worth it, giving up a child who shouldn't have been mine in exchange for eternal youth."_

_Killian glared at him. "Only if you're a coward. No wonder your son was the same."_

_He brushed his insult off by countering, "Oh come now, wouldn't you surrender Baelfire in an instant if it meant you could be with that tart of yours again? What's her name...Milah?"_

_Even from a distance, Emma could see how Killian was struggling to remain composed. But it was the second half of his response that surprised her. "No. I would never sacrifice one for the other, and if it came down to that choice, I will give myself for them both. As for Milah..." His voice cracked, and she wanted to stare at anything but his pain. When his voice suddenly softened, she glanced up at him. "I've let her go. I've found another ― and I promise you, Pan, that I won't do anything to harm her. I won't sacrifice her for anything."_

" _But that's not the question, is it?" he rebuked. "What would_ you _sacrifice...if it meant you could be with Emma again?"_

_The barely concealed desperation in Killian's eyes was no doubt mirroring her own._

" _What if," Pan prodded further, "your dagger could be the key to unlocking your freedom? Would you use it?" His gaze was glittering with challenge. "The question is...what are you prepared to do?"_

* * *

"I need a magic bean."

She was still quite a distance from the throne, but she could see that David was already shifting restlessly on his seat, uncomfortable or not. Next to him, Snow looked just as startled by her request, and from the way they were glancing at each other, it was apparent her parents were quite bemused. And worse that that,  _worried_.

"You want...a  _magic bean_?" her father finally replied. "Emma, Anton told you all about magic beans, what a risk they are―"

"And I understand ― completely. That doesn't change my request." She would plead with him forever until they granted her this one wish.  _To find her heart's desire and bring him back to her._  "Please, Father."

"Emma..." Her mother began gently. "It took us so long to be reunited with you, and during the past year, we had to fight to keep you. David and ― ahem, your father and I...we only want what's best for you, so forgive us if we're not too quick to let you go again."

"Because you're afraid for me." Emma took a deep breath. "I know that there's danger ― but there always will be. Mom...Dad...," she appealed to both, "you told me so many times that life itself is dangerous, and that you have to focus on the moments that make living worth the risks."

David was considering, his expression deeply pensive. Then his eyes drifted over the speechless members of court left, all gaping at his daughter. "Please ― leave us," he ordered kindly, his voice carrying across the vast space. Her mother nodded her agreement, signaling for the guards to exit as well.

When the last of the nobles had quietly shut the grand double doors behind them, a dull echo left in their wake, Emma sighed out in relief. Finally, the three of them were now alone.

Stepping forward, she wrung her hands together, seeking a way to explain to her parents what she felt for her former captor. "I...I've been trying so hard. To live again. It's wonderful," she smiled wistfully, "to be back home ― with you." David and Snow both beamed at her. "But...I can't escape it. This...this sense. Of  _loss_. I  _need_  to go back...and find  _him_ ," she choked out.

David looked horrified, his mouth open in shock. "That  _villain_? The ruthless  _pirate_  who kidnapped you and locked you up and then  _tried to_ ―" he sputtered. Snow put her hand over his, which was violently clutching the end of the throne's stone armrest. "Emma, I don't understand. From what you said...there's nothing for you there."

"Except for Killian," she whispered sadly, gazing up at her mother beseechingly before turning her eyes back to her father. Surely she of all people would see the  _how_  and  _why_  of all this. "And he wasn't always a pirate...once, he was just a loyal lieutenant who loved his brother―"

"But he's now the  _Dark One_ , sweetheart! A creature filled with pure malice and evil―"

"You don't know him, Dad! He...he was  _good_  to me. True, he  _was_  cold and heartless at first, but then...he let me be. He listened to me...held me...held my  _hand_ when I needed someone to sit beside me and just be there." Emma shook her head at the burden of memories returning to the forefront of her mind. "There was so much darkness in Regina's prison...never any light...and somehow, by some twist of fate, Captain Hook let me out. I can't defend his intentions. I can't defend his past." Then she smiled at them, remembering. She could see his face, his eyes staring back at hers with such love that it made her heart ache so much.  _So very, very much._ "But I can defend the man I got to know...the kind one who became my friend and helped me heal. A man of honor. A man who  _cared_  for me."

"That doesn't change what he's done," Snow interjected, frowning.

Emma's eyes widened. "Mom, you forgave  _the Evil Queen_  after all the horrible things she did to you ― and after everything she did to me. You let her have a better chance with a true love of her own instead of executing her when we overcame her forces. I'm willing to forgive Killian too."

"But why?" David demanded. "You don't owe him anything ― especially not risking your life to go back to that hell of a place. He only prolonged your suffering―"

"Haven't you been listening to me?" she cried, her sight becoming blurry as frustration and desire warred with each other inside her. "I don't hate him, and I don't feel obligated to him!  _God above, I'm in love with him!_ "

The silence was condemning, more than any more arguments they could have thrown at her.

She waited for it to end.

"Emma...is this because Bae left?" Snow asked quietly.

"It has nothing to do with Bae!" she snapped, annoyed that her parents couldn't accept the depth of her concern for Killian. "I never loved him in that way in the first place."

"Then... _how_?"

A tear tumbled onto the cloth of her dress, and she could only wheeze and gasp and choke on an onset of feeling rushing to the open air, overwhelming her in its wake as this breathless union pronounced its existence to the world. "I can't explain how it started ― but it did, and though it wasn't easy―" she laughed at the absurdity, "we were  _friends_. Friends...who  _need_ each other." Pausing, she pleaded, "I  _need_  him, Mom ― Dad, I need to find him, like you found Mom." However, she couldn't tell them that he needed to be saved from Pan, or that the evil imp was still cross about the loss of her heart. They'd never let her go if they truly knew how dangerous this journey would be...that she had everything to fear...

There was a period allowed for contemplation, and Emma scarcely breathed as her parents silently debated on the practicality and futility of her request.  _Anton would give me the beans in a heartbeat..._ Then Snow smiled warmly at her husband, who was groaning under his breath while rubbing at his face frustratedly. "Well...I was a bandit when you met  _me_ ," she began cautiously, "and that didn't stop you from seeking me out. Of course, aside from when you were chasing down the jewels I'd stolen or fighting trolls or trying to get my memories back. But through it all...you believed in me. Maybe..." She glanced at Emma, her smile widening when David's harsh glare softened considerably under the haze of those references. "Maybe we should trust our daughter to do the right thing ― as she has done up to now ― and let her find her happy ending in her own way."

"But he's a  _pirate_!" David argued weakly, quickly smothered by the layers of affection in his wife's eyes and Emma's apparent desperation. "How can he be good enough for her?"

Snow chuckled at his anxious expression. "He's  _her_  pirate, David ― and knowing Emma, she wouldn't have chosen anyone who wasn't worthy of her. She deserves to find something of her own, and I have faith in her. Do you?"

Her father looked at her then, and a slow smile covered his face, brightening it.

* * *

Anton shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Now remember to think hard of where you want to go when you jump down the portal―"

"I know."

"And don't touch the sides or meddle with the magic in any way, or you could end up in a different dimension―"

"I  _know_."

"Oh, and after you throw down the bean, you have exactly ten seconds to jump in or the portal will close―"

"Anton!" Emma sighed under her breath, growing more nervous by the minute. " _I know_ , okay? I've already been through portals before." She covered her face with her hands, anxiety overwhelming her.

A large hand squeezed her shoulder. "Hey ― don't worry, Emma. As far as I know, my best friend has never failed at anything, and she's not about to now."

Chuckling through her tears, she peered up at him. "But I  _can_  fail."

"Sure ― everyone can. But  _you_ ," he emphasized, "you're different. You've gone through so much already, and you've survived. You're strong. I  _believe_  that you won't fail."

She drew him into a hug. "Thanks, Anton."

"Do I get a hug too, Princess?" came a familiar voice.

Emma grinned and turned to her father. "Of course."

"Now remember―" he said into her ear while she clung to him.

"I'll be careful, Dad," she vowed earnestly, kissing his cheek. "I promise I'll come back to you, safe and sound. I'm just glad you're giving me this chance."

"And why wouldn't we?" interjected Snow, coming up beside them. "My daughter deserves to find true love, as I did."

She blushed, peering down at her boots. "Who says it's true love? He ― he―" she choked out a breath, "Killian may not even want to see me, let alone speak to me."

Smiling warmly at her, Snow gently took her face in her hands and kissed her forehead. "My dear Emma ― how you've grown up. You've become everything I ever wished you would be: strong, brave, unselfish. Anton's not the only one who believes in you, sweetheart. We do too. Just you remember that."

Biting back tears, Emma sniffed, pulling back from her parents. It hurt to leave them, just as it had hurt to leave Killian. But that was the paradox of love, she guessed: it gave as much pain as it did happiness. Her heart belonged to all of them, but this...this was different.

_Killian was part of her soul._

Adjusting the sword and dagger at her side, the satchel hanging around her neck and resting on her hip, Emma took one of the beans firmly in her hand, the other tucked away in the magical locket the Blue Fairy had given her. After waving at the crowd of people who had come to see her off as well, she peeked over the end of the wharf, staring at the bottomless sea below.

It was time ― high past time ― to go back to him.

* * *

Traveling between worlds had been another gratifying rush of adrenaline, and with all her might, she had thought of the land of dreams, hoping that she'd see her destination when she'd open her eyes.

That hope came true all too quickly.  _And Pan would immediately know she was here ― that meant she had to act as quickly as possible._

Being drenched and literally spat out on the shores of Neverland by the portal was not how she had intended to arrive, however.

"Goddamn it!" she swore, wiping sand from her pants and rolling her eyes as she realized she was stranded onshore. Bae had once said that Pan's shadow had dropped him in the middle of the ocean, where Hook had fished him out, but she didn't have the luxury of being reunited with her nemesis before she had saved her love.

_Her love._

Wishing she had more to cling to than memories of him, Emma checked to see that she had all she had brought, that nothing was out of place.

Then, focusing her magic by concentrating hard on her emotions as Regina had taught her to, she left the island in a wave of light, hoping that she wouldn't find herself at the mercy of the mermaids instead of in Killian's arms.

However, stumbling ungracefully over her own feet on contact with the deck of the  _Jolly Roger_  was sound enough proof for her that she had made it, that this was all real and she was truly here. Then there were the gaping crewmen, all staring at her as if she had dropped from the sky ―  _which she had, actually_.

"Miss Emma? Is that...is that you?" Young and lively David looked the same as ever, and so did Mr. Smee, standing still from shock. The colors of the sky, the sails flapping in the thralls of strong winds... It was like she had been here only yesterday, a prisoner of the night.

She put on her best smile and reached out. "Yes, David ― it's me―"

"Hah ― not bloody likely." A cold, cruel laugh beat at her ears, and she searched for the source of the voice.

There was no mistaking him. The way he strode forward, confident and sure of his power. His hook, menacing and gleaming in the moonlight. Fatal beauty in his face and form, towering over her as she confronted him for the second time in her life.

"How 'bout it, mates?" he sneered. "Let's gut this worthless carp and spill her guts over the deck so Pan can see her true worth."

 _Carp?_  Emma held her hands up in a placating gesture of innocence. "Hook, I'm not a siren."

He smirked maliciously. "I must say, you're getting better and better at this ― why, you even sound like her this time."

"No," she denied, her heart beginning to pound. " _Killian_... Can't you see?" She smiled tentatively. "It's me ― Emma.  _Your_  Emma. I've...I've come back. For  _you_."

His eyes, usually so bright and heated, were dim and devoid of feeling. "Lass," he uttered tiredly, bravado spent, "you put on a good performance, I'll admit ― but enough of this mockery. Dive off my ship and begone with you, as I've no patience tonight."

 _God, he was so relentlessly obstinate in believing she was a siren, come to deceive him with illusions of desire_ , Emma brooded inwardly. Her father had told her of the siren at Lake Nostos, how she had tricked him into thinking she was Snow White, concealing her true appearance. What had Pan possibly done to Killian during all this time that he was in such a state of despair and no longer believed in her?

"I'm  _real_ , Killian," she said through gritted teeth.

His posture stiffened, and he turned around to face her once more. "Oh, I know you're real, darling," he retorted, "and since you're so insistent about your veracity, let's try a test, shall we?" He had a wild look in his gaze as he pulled his sword from his scabbard. When he moved toward her, Emma feared the worst. "I plunge this blade through your heart and your blood will be proof enough for me that you're flesh and not a spirit―"

"You wouldn't―"

"Oh, I would." He pressed the tip of the sword against the base of her throat. With a swipe of her hand or a flick of her finger, she could knock it from his grasp and fling it into the ocean. But she didn't. Instead, she stood as still as possible, praying he wouldn't kill her without hearing what she had to say. "And your good-for-nothing master should know better than to toy with me ― especially when he's getting what he wants―"

 _No._ Cringing at the confirmation of her dream, she felt her magic spring forward urgently, and against her better judgment, she reined it in, wanting him to finally see the truth without any trickery. There was unrestrained desperation in her voice as she begged, "Killian, can't you see how much I―"

The sharp metal was cutting her skin, and the curved hook threatened to join in. "Don't dare say the words, you lying bitch," he hissed, his expression distorted by rage and unleashed fury. "You're not  _her_  ― you could never be her!" Up till this point, his voice had been strong and hard, but now it was breaking... And each shattered piece was driving a wedge into her determination to get through to him.

Emma smiled weakly, bit back her pain when the wound deepened, and pushed forward. He was staring at her as if she had gone mad.  _Perhaps she had. Mad with love for him..._

"Why go so far, siren?" he whispered brokenly, both weapons dropping to his sides. Still, she bled ― and it wasn't because of the cut on her throat, trickling absently into the collar of her shirt.  _It was because of the anguish in his eyes_. "Why play this farce to such an extent that you force me to kill you?"

Emma bowed her head. "I've come for my love," she replied softly, daring to continue and not run away with her conscience, open the last portal, and take the easy path home.  _What could she say to make him understand...? What would it take for him to listen to her?_

The answer came to her like a burst of sunlight, striking at her core.  _Of course of course of course―_

"The prophecy," she cried out, flinching when his eyes narrowed. "It wasn't for  _you_  ― it was for  _me_. I was meant to find you, Killian ― I was always meant to find  _you_."

"What sorcery is this?"  _Damn it, he still didn't believe her._

She swallowed hard, willing him to give her a chance. Just one, little chance. "I've had a lot of solitude in the past year ― a lot of time to think ― and I figured it out. Rumplestiltskin hurt you, and Regina hurt me. And then you came in and took me away, only to promise more pain than I've ever felt before. You've hurt people too ― and at first, I thought you would hurt me. But then I saw the patterns ― what your eternal nemesis and my mortal enemy and you yourself had in common."

It seemed the whole world had stilled to hear her profession, and the crew stood motionless, in time with the stagnant air, as Emma exposed her longing for him. Hook too was silent, fixated on her lips and how she gesticulated when she spoke. In the depths of him, she saw a glow, a spark aroused. No longer withstanding her passion, she carried on. "Regina knows how to love deeply, and that's why she's found a new, happier life with Robin Hood. Because he can give her what she badly needs: love. And then...Rumple... He was unwanted by his father...and he lived most of his life unloved, devoted to his son and despised by his wife. He lost both of them, but found one again. In the end, he said that Belle and Bae made him stronger, and his pure love for them was his one redeeming trait after all the evil and chaos he had wreaked as the Dark One."

He was following her every word, and still, there was nothing but silence ― endless, impassive silence. It didn't matter that she was speaking aloud, that everyone in this world could hear her. Only he mattered.

"With you...you've always believed in good, whether you rejected it or not. You've clung to your principles for  _centuries_ ; even the darkness within couldn't destroy who you really are ― a man of honor. The deaths of Liam and Milah broke you, but deep inside, I know you are, and always will be, Killian Jones," Emma implored. "Hook...he's the mask you've worn. Because what makes you the man I can't live without...is your great capacity to love."

She stepped forward, opening her arms to him. "You  _are_  the nightingale, but I am  _not_  going to throw away your rose. I am not going to let you sacrifice yourself anymore. I am not going to turn from you again. Killian Jones...gentleman and pirate...captain and the Dark One... _a good man_... I am going to love you with all of my heart, until the day we die. My thorn was leaving you behind, but you've found me. With you, I've reawakened. I don't need a rose ― I need  _you_. You are more than enough ― because you are everything. Everything I want."

No breath of air danced, twisting the sails. No sound crossed the distance between her and him. Emma could see a hundred thoughts ravage his mind, fleeting across his eyes, until she felt her own to be overwhelming and she had to look away from him.

" _Emma?_ "

His lips became a smile that pulled at her heart, and she couldn't stop her legs from racing to him or her arms from throwing themselves around him in a fierce embrace. "Killian, I'm home. At last,  _I'm home_ ," she choked out, holding back a sob.

His sword had dropped onto the deck, long forgotten, and he was clinging to her as if he was afraid she'd disappear, his hand and hook tightly gripping her waist. "My darling little bird," he murmured brokenly, burying his face in her hair. "You've come back to me!"

"Yes ― and I won't let go ― I won't ever let go of you again," she vowed, leaving kisses along his forehead, his jawline, the corner of his mouth. Then she was drowning in a sea of clearest blue, and without a single regret, she leaned in closer, her hand gently cupping his glistening cheek. "You are my choice ― my one and only choice. I will never want anyone but you."

In return, his fingers brushed along one side of her face. When her lips slowly sought his own, timidly approaching, he slid his hand around the back of her neck and abruptly brought her body forward to collide with his, capturing her mouth in a fiery kiss. She ran her hands through his dark hair, eager to be his.

* * *

Emma was melting under his touch, the unyielding demands of his tongue, the inflamed brand of his lips on her skin. There was simply no respite from the warmth of him, the feel of him ― nor did she want any. Faintly hearing the crows and cheers of his men in the background, she grinned and kissed him again, fitting herself against him as his reactions grew more and more impassioned. His hips rubbed over hers steadily. She moaned, clutching at his arms.

"Well, well, well." Peter Pan appeared in front of them, sounding both disgusted and pleased. His resulting grimace was more nauseating. "The two lovebirds reunited," he sneered.

Resting her head on Killian's chest, she nestled into his protective hold. "The coward returns," she taunted. "I was wondering how long it would take your spies to alert you that I was back in Neverland."

He smirked. "Not long at all, actually."

Emma felt her arms being drawn behind her forcefully, and in an instant, Killian had a knife scraping at her throat, his hook acting as a manacle for her hands. "What ― what are you doing?" she panicked, smelling the toxic scent of dark magic as it wafted past her.

Pan paused before revealing the long, twisted dagger he had been hiding behind his back. "Why, don't you know?" he said mockingly. "Your beloved Captain Hook works for me now." The name "Killian Jones" was clearly inscribed on the glinting metal.

"Please don't do this." She was trying to get through to Killian, driving her magic to him as best she could. But at every turn, it was repelled, and she could only helplessly watch as Pan waved the familiar dagger and then sent her sprawling facedown on the deck.

"I warned you, Lost Girl." He ran a fingertip down the blunt edge of the blade. "There's always a price for breaking the rules." Killian began to yell manically, groping at his eyes as he writhed in pain, his limbs contorted like those of a puppet. Emma glared with hate at the demon who once was Rumple's father. "But what I can't decide is what would be more suitable: having your lover kill you in cold blood and then remember the deed, or forcing you to kill him so he can't kill you."

She scoffed, "That's an easy choice." Fueled by anger and concern, her magic lashed forward like a whip, flashing white. "Neither!"

Channeling it toward him, she jumped to her feet and threw Pan backwards, taking pleasure in how he spiraled in the air before he hit the mast with a satisfying thud. The knife clattered out of his hands, and she attempted to drag it to her. When Mr. Smee ran to it as well, Pan froze the entire crew where they stood, the captain's first mate included.

"Not so fast." He vanished from his landing spot and grabbed the dagger before she could, grinning when she waved her hand to snatch it from his grasp. In response, he knocked her to ground with a blast.

Rage furnished growing fire in the palms of her hands, and when she prepared to throw the burning globes at Pan, he flung Killian in front of him, using him as a shield.

"What is it you want?" she screamed, exhaustion coming to claim her. Her magic was being craftily drained, and if she wasn't careful, she would soon be completely helpless.

"To win," Killian croaked, eyes rolling in the back of his head as Pan released him from his magical influence. Falling, he crumpled into a heap on the main deck.

"No!"  _Pan would never let her get close enough to him ― so she could only buy them time._  "Leave him alone!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, looking amused. "Do you know why this dagger is in my possession, Emma? Because your precious pirate was more anxious to get to you for his own gain than for yours."

She magicked wind to tear at his skin, but he enchanted rope to entwine around her legs, binding her where she stood.

"You see, lassie," he sniggered, "you've forgotten that you're in Neverland ― and Neverland belongs to me. It always has, and it always will." Tracing the curve of her chin with the end of the blade, he was in front of her face, so close but out of reach.

Fighting against Pan's dark magic was strenuous, and what little of her own magic was left could barely withstand him. But it was like charging a gale, pushing and pushing until you moved, never giving up, never surrendering―

With a cry, she broke the ropes and charged at him, using the last bit of strength she had to confine him in her arms as they grappled over control of the Dark One's dagger. "For an old man, you're pretty damn strong!" she snarled, grinding her teeth together when she heard a loud crack from her wrist and a blaring pain shot through her arm.

"For a girl, you're very stupid," he countered, jabbing at where her bone had fractured. She gasped in agony. Then she began to scream as she felt Pan attempt to consume her powers, magnetizing the light inside of her until it was literally wrenched out.

Persistent as ever, the haunting siren's song was calling her to the sea, tempting her to leave her battle aside and find rest ― rest in the water's end, where drowned sailors floated. But Emma thought hard of Bae, of Tinker Bell, of Rumplestiltskin. She recalled their stories, their warnings, their advice.  _My father can only be defeated if I defeat myself ― my father can only be defeated―_

"I won't let you kill him!" She saw out of the corner of her eye that Killian was struggling to his feet, battered and out of balance. Forcing the dagger to turn inward, pointing it at Pan's heart, she hissed, "Consider this payment for our deal."

He cried out when the end slunk down into his shoulder, and the more he wrestled in her adamant hold, the farther she plunged the blade, rousing her own magic to new heights as the death wound began to shine with an ethereal glow, summoning a cyclone of light and darkness as the essence of magic itself wove itself around them, the cost of using the Dark One's dagger and the price for Neverland's destruction combining into a violent hail of power. The very air was shrieking smoke, and she could see nothing beyond what was right before her. It was all Emma could do to hold on to Pan as he transformed before her very eyes, adolescent to old man and back again, magic stripping him of his eternal youth like raw wheat in a whetstone.  _After all, it was not a dagger of death, but of darkness._

"You may think you've defeated me ― but Peter Pan always wins!" he retorted, coughing weakly as the chaotic storm seemed to dim for a moment. "I  _will_  have my happy ending."

"But you're a demon ― a villain." She gave him a dark smile, withdrawing the dagger suddenly. He looked up at her with a hopeful half-grin, while one of his hands furtively reached for the knife. In this light, he could be a kind old grandfather, a testament to Rumple's existence. But his eyes ―  _so much like Rumple's_  ― glinted savagely, and she could feel his hatred.  _There can be no going back._  "And villains don't get happy endings. As for demons," she spat out, finally evading his flailing limbs and stabbing the blade straight through his heart, "they belong in hell!"

With a frightful howl, the magical wind absorbed him whole. Light gleamed like a thousand suns united before fading into a vast pool of black, one that Emma witnessed before her breath was stolen from her lungs and she could sense nothing.

Nothing but a gut-wrenching pain that tore at every part of her until it was whisked away into the emptying darkness.

* * *

Removing yourself from a deep sleep is one of the world's most difficult endeavors. Your eyelids counteract the wishes of your mind, vainly staying shut when you want them to open, and even your brain rebels, clawing at the remainder of your dream (or nightmare) with foolish determination.

For Emma, it was a soft slumber, where she could escape from her worries and just  _be_. But one always has to awaken. Because dreams come from life, not the other way around.

"Sweetheart?" Someone was gently shaking her, saying her name.

She broke through the dizziness that remained and peered upward. "Killian?"

He exhaled deeply, shuddering. "Thank God."

There was only a dull ache in her head as she sat up, staring hungrily at her surroundings. The captain's cabin hadn't changed at all since she'd last been here. And as for the Dark One...

"Is Pan gone?" She was lying on top of Killian's bed, covered from the neck down with entangled sheets.

"Yes." Carefully, he lowered himself down, sitting beside her.

Brushing hair out of her eyes, Emma peered at him, trying to make sense of time and what had passed. "Is he...dead?"

Killian chuckled dryly, the rumbles of his chest transforming into a deep sigh. "Emma...he disappeared. When the bloody cyclone vanished, all that was left...was you."

"Me?" She looked around. "What about...the Dark One's dagger? And Neverland?"

He waved his hand. "Still here and working." He rubbed a finger ruefully over the letters of his name. "Still bloody mine. And as for this damned place...its sun has returned. My men saw a bloody sunrise after centuries of night."

She swallowed hard, realizing that the bond between Rumplestiltskin and his father had not extended to Killian Jones, as there was no blood ties between Pan and him.  _That must have been why it didn't work―_

"You healed me." Emma moved her wrist gingerly, touching the bones one by one.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I couldn't leave you in a mangled mess like that, love," he said softly, reaching for her hand.

Bending forward, she strove to meet him halfway ― only to feel the sheet slip from her, leaving her bare from the waist up. " _Oh._ " She blushed. "Where ― where are my clothes?"

He hung his head. "It was all I could do to conceal you before all of my blasted crew saw you, lass ― the magic wind wasn't very subtle about devouring every garment you were wearing," he muttered, sounding strangely embarrassed.

Emma quickly forgot about her lack of apparel, grabbing at the hollow of her throat as a wave of panic pummeled her. "Thank goodness," she mumbled, toying with the necklace. Then she suddenly leapt out of bed, barely feeling the brush of wind against her skin as she ran through the room, staring down every nook and cranny.

"What are you looking for?" he mused.

"My satchel." She wrung her hands together, ceasing her frantic search on noticing how Killian's eyes had darkened as he observed her naked form move about. Then a small grin touched his lips, and purple smoke revealed her bag, unharmed and intact. She grabbed it from his ready hand. "Glad to see you've retrieved your sense of humor," she sniffed, crawling back into his bed. He followed.

When she felt the cold glass against her fingertips, the satin sack drifting towards the bottom of the bag, she breathed out her relief, and then her eyes flickered to his face. Lips parted and chest heaving, Killian was watching her.

"You have magic."

She gulped. "Yes."

His jaw set, his gaze grew turbulent. "And you came back ―  _knowing_  what he might do to you."

Her chin jutting forward, she declared, "I didn't care about Pan. I cared about getting back to  _you_."

His hand was clenched into a fist, and in one swift, fluid movement, he was pacing across the room, avoiding her. "Why did you come back, Emma?  _Why?_ "

Her heart jumped in shock at the thought that maybe...maybe he didn't love her.  _Maybe he never did_ , her doubts whispered. "I just told you why," she snapped. "I wanted―"

"To save me." He laughed bitterly, stroking the porcelain washtub absently. "Well, look what you've bloody got for all your efforts, Princess ― the one-handed Dark One, cursed till another takes this burden of living away by killing him." In a fit of rage, he threw the basin at the opposite wall. It shattered, the pieces scattered all over the floor. He cleaned them in an instant, and the effort took only a flick of his fingers.

She withdrew from the warmth of her haven, daring to stand in front of him. Her wayward locks tumbled down over her bare breasts, and her nipples grew taut in the cool atmosphere. "How many times do I have to say that I want  _you_?" She took his face in her hands when he turned away. "That I crossed  _worlds_  to find  _you_?"

"After years of silence?" He ripped himself from her hold. "You don't want me ― you  _can't_  want me," he hissed, hiding himself in the shadows. "When you fought Pan the first time...I knew. I saw the power inside of you, Swan." His voice became forlorn and strained. "Your heart carries light magic, the most pure and powerful of all." He huskily added, "You were right to leave me, love. Someone as good as you...shouldn't be with a monster like me. You've always deserved better, Emma."

She didn't want to hear this. She had ached from his loss for over a year― "Wait..." She shook her head. "It's only been a year...since I left you." She winced when he bit his lower lip, his expression still out of sight.

"Lass, Neverland goes by no time. Here, it takes longer to forget." He touched the tip of his hook, not meeting her eyes.

"Have you?" She conjured a steady pull that kept him in place so that he wouldn't run away. "Have you forgotten me?" She walked up to him, settling herself before him, obscuring nothing. "Have you forgotten," she murmured in his ear, "how you took me in your bed and showed me heaven?"

He was trembling, eyes flickering as if unsure where to rest, his hand anxious and tense. Finally sighing, he admitted, "I could never forget that moment. You've been in my dreams, my little bird. Always,  _always_  in my dreams. Never in my reach. Singing to me, full of life and beauty ― and it's futile to resist the wonder that is your voice, calling me to sorrow over the fact that I don't have you. That my love lives while my heart dies."

"You have me now." She ran her hands down his shirt, beginning to unclasp his vest. Surprisingly, he let her. "I'm right here, Killian."

Shaking his head, he swallowed hard. "I have nothing to offer you. Nothing to give you. Nothing but a corpse blackened by dark magic. I took you away from the ones you loved ― kept you a prisoner here ― and your words...  _Your words..._ Emma," he rasped, "you have no idea how everything you said...all the wrongs you accused me of...how true those were. How that truth and the folly of my actions have tortured me while you've been gone. How I can find peace when it's right for you to be without me, but wrong for me to be without you?" he choked out, bending forward until his forehead leaned against hers.

She caressed his hair steadily, wiping away a stray tear from his cheek that he had been unable to hold back. "Killian Jones, did you not hear a word that I said before, on deck?" Emma began to kiss along his neck, smiling against the muscles that twitched under the touch of her lips. "I love you. All of you. Even the parts that belong to the darkness."

His hand slid up her arm, rising higher to cup her cheek, while his hook stood still by her hip. "Are you really not just another phantom from a dream, come to haunt me with visions of things that cannot be?"

Raising herself up on her tiptoes, Emma whispered over his lips, "A dream could never do  _this_." Melding herself against him, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt while he tasted her mouth after so long apart, tender licks and nips becoming bolder and surer as he dove deeper into their kiss, his tongue joining hers. She could feel his magic stirring, and when he moved his hand once more, she stopped him. "Let me?"

He nodded, and she sighed as her hands traveled over the expanse of his chest, dipping leisurely along the planes of his ribs and sweeping up through dark hair.  _She would never tire of touching him, of feeling his skin..._

However, Killian tried to tear himself away when she unlaced his brace. "No―"

" _Yes_." Willing her magic to help, the hook and its attachment dropped off, leaving his left arm exposed. He was staring at his stump, but she enfolded his face with her hands, turning him away from the sight. "Killian...your losses don't make you less of a man."

His lower lip trembled slightly. "But I want to be a whole man for you, Emma ― a good man ―"

"You are." Her lips brushed over his cheeks. " _You are both._ " Her fingers outlined his heart. "As long as there is love in here." His trousers fell to his knees, and she magicked them away, together with his boots, in an instant.

A pleased grin settled on Emma's lips. "Hmm, it seems we've stood like this once before," she teased when he didn't answer, his eyes fixed on her mouth. Her hips shifted closer to his, and she inhaled sharply on seeing his arousal.

She wanted to touch him.

She wanted to claim his body.

She wanted to free his heart.

Her fingers crawled downward. Relishing his harried breathing, the way his expression grew tense and famished as she continued to feel him, wanting to memorize his very soul. Slowly, she stepped forward, nudging his shaft between her legs, scrutinizing his reactions. His upper arms were her stronghold as she began to kiss along his shoulders, and when he sought to reciprocate, she stopped him.

"No," she whispered. His face fell and his gaze darkened. She lightened both with a powerful kiss. "Tonight, I promise you: you will know by morning what it means to be loved by Emma Swan."

* * *

He couldn't get ahold of his bloody senses. If someone had told him that his Emma would be advancing, taking him into her arms and vowing sweet pleasure and her deepest affections―

He groaned as the woman he loved led his tongue into her mouth, caressing it with her own as her hands tormented his body, endlessly seeking every expanse of his skin. He could only helplessly enjoy the curves of her hips as they fit against his, how the image of her sitting astride him, boldly taking command of their passions, was affecting him. He swore when Emma kissed down his chest, leaving no area unscathed by the eagerness of her lips. She licked and nipped at him, and it was bloody torture to let her take control while he was bound beneath her, pinned by the intoxicating weight of her form. While she was here, near him, the darkness had slunk away into the bloody depths of Neverland's sea.

When she rose up, only to descend and capture his mouth, giving him another taste of her, he moaned, his hand reaching for her nearest breast. He started to buck his hips up, and accordingly, she thrust down. All the while she kissed him, bringing fire with her while she burned the edges of his thoughts.

_He had to have her. He needed to be hers, and for his sanity's sake, she needed to be his._

Flipping them over, he cherished her laughs at his desperate move and then absorbed her loud moans as his mouth found her nipples, taking one at a time between his teeth and sucking hard, savoring them. His hand navigated between her trembling thighs, fingering her there.

"I still remember our first time, my love," he rasped. "Did you know I soothed the pain of not having you here with me by imagining how your body melded with mine, how every second I ravished you there was pleasure reaped beyond reckoning for the both of us?" She whimpered. "How I pictured the way you gave yourself to me, waiting for me in these very chambers with the body of a goddess and the sweet smile of a bloody siren?"

"Killian," she mewed, crying out when he laved her neck with his wandering tongue, anxious to re-discover her body again. One time with her hadn't been enough.  _It would never be enough._

Suddenly, she turned them over, straddling him. He took the reversal in stride, sitting up. His cock accidentally brushed over her wet folds, causing him to hiss from muted desire. "God ― Emma―" Killian kissed her soundly, revisiting her lips again and again at a frenzied pace, eliciting gasps and sighs from his golden-haired beauty as she recklessly tossed her head back, offering him everything she possessed.

And  _bloody damnation_ , he replied in kind.

His hand was squeezing her behind, caressing her back, while his bad arm resided in her grip as she held onto him. One step ahead, she was grinding down on his throbbing erection, clenching her thighs, locking her ankles over his back as her calves hugged his waist wantonly. "My darling," he intoned, journeying busily across her chest with his lips. "I want to love you every part of you ― let me love you, little bird." Burying his head between her breasts, he paused, letting their softness fondle his cheeks, before he created a path of wet kisses over and around them. His stubbled chin brushed over her tender nipples more than once, making Emma cry out his name repeatedly.

He felt his blood grow hotter and his cock tighten on hearing the sound of it, whimpered and uttered and moaned by his beautiful Swan more than once.  _She was his ― only his. Forever his. He would keep her. Because she loved him. All of him._

Blinded by fear, he froze.  _Last time he had loved her like this, she had left him. Everyone he loved had left him, so why wouldn't she do it...again?_

Shuddering, he pulled back, his heart pierced by the look of shock on her face. Then it flew away, replaced by pure caring as she read his worry.

"I won't leave you, Killian." She threaded her fingers through his hair. "Every day away from you hurt inside, so much so that I wanted my heart gone from my chest, if only to escape the pain." Biting her lower lip, she tentatively reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking the tip of it with her thumb. He gripped her sides tightly, aching to be within her, to prove his feelings to her. "I want this. I want you not just for tonight ― but for every night. For every moment." Her eyelids closed as he thrust into her hand, unable to hold back his need for her. "I want―" she moaned, "I want to be at your side. I want to sleep in your arms. I want to live every day with you. And when we die, we'll be together. Nothing ―  _nothing_  ― will ever separate us."

He stilled her hand, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck. "What are you saying, Emma?" he murmured huskily, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing.

She ran the back of her hand over his cheek. "Killian Jones, I have chosen to be yours for the rest of my life. Will you do the same? Will you...will you choose to be mine ― for the rest of yours?"

Smiling, he drew her into a languorous kiss. "You know," he chuckled afterwards, "I think I've belonged to you since the day we first met. I just didn't realize it yet."

"That's not an answer," she pouted.

He rocked his hips against hers, wiping away that frown of hers. Nudging his tip into her entrance, he growled, "Aye ― because I want to  _give_  you the answer. I want to  _make_  you mine, just as you want to make me yours. To mark you with my touch so that all men will know you're  _my_  love." He ravaged her mouth, embracing her with his maimed arm while his hand cradled the back of her head.

Emma panted heavily, lips parted. Her hair had fallen down over her shoulders, and her eyes were smoldering, dark green fringed by the black hue of her eyelashes.  _Flawless._  "Show me."

He cocked his head at her.

"Show me how to...how to..."

"How to what, lass?"

She gazed at him challengingly, heatedly. "How to make love to you."

* * *

They were climbing over a precipice together, every movement driving them closer and closer to see the breathtaking view from above. But just before she was sure she would come undone, Emma stopped abruptly, eliciting a groan from the man beneath her. Clasping her hands around his neck, she brought herself forward until their foreheads were touching and she could stare deeply into his eyes. Now Killian was holding her in his arms, their embrace bringing them closer together than before.

His heart was beating fiercely beneath her palm, his warmth mingling with hers. Her eyelids closed of their own accord, and she felt that soft brush of magic, rising and rising until she saw gold. Her hand slid down to his cheek, her thumb reaching out to stroke it, while his own hand grasped her hip and helped her climb as she rose above him using her knees, only to glide downward steadily, surrounding his length with her constricting heat. The longing and deep fulfillment behind their vigorous coupling was making her entire body tremble, her limbs nearly shaking from the physical effort to make love to him as slowly as possible. Unlike her first time, there was no pain, no excuse to pull back. Instead, there was every reason to push forward. Using everything he had taught her, focusing on all he had told her, she did.

"Killian," she moaned, kissing him urgently and interlacing their fingers, her other hand holding him close. "I can feel  _you_." His lips sought hers again after she broke away to breathe. "I can feel  _your soul next to mine_."

" _Emma_ ," he whispered in return, tracing the curve of her jaw with his mouth, his teeth softly grazing her skin as his breath caused her senses to tingle. The gesture was bestowed so lovingly and adoringly that she couldn't help but return it, pressing kisses along his neck and collarbone. "You brought life back to me. I can't stop needing you...I want to be yours for always, my love, and I want to show you how much I care for you. So don't hold back, darling ―  _let me in. Let me see you_."

Caressing his cheek again gently, she let the light deep within her come out into the open, radiance channeling outward until the entire room was bathed in its splendor. In turn, dark spirals of convoluted magic appeared to entwine with her white magic.

But this time, it was different. There was no great mystery to solve. There was only Killian and Emma, two broken halves that had been mended by being reunited. Harder and harder she rode onto him, crying his name as he thrust deeper and deeper, stretching her. When she opened her eyes, she witnessed the most marvelous sight.

"Killian ― look ― look at the light! It's going into your heart from mine," Emma whispered excitedly. He was shaking, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise.

"Emma―" He groaned, eyes widening when she pivoted her hips. " _I love you_."

Their resulting kiss became a battleground while they both sought their release. Her palms resting on his chest, fingers meshed in the dark hair there. His left arm curled around her waist, his one hand kneading her breasts. Then he hugged her fiercely to him, encouraging her to keep touching him as more pressure built steadily.

Light entered. Darkness was an increasing cloud that piled upward from mounting thunder. And, still, Killian pressed onward, whispering words of love, agony and ecstasy etched in his features as he entered her again and again, the rhythm downright hypnotic.

Then came forth the surge of lightning. " _Killian!_ " Emma shouted, unable to contain herself as a strain of power was ripped from her.

An explosion of magic showered over them, and like a mantle, it covered them completely, bathed them in scintillating light. Overwhelmed, she hid her face in the crook of his neck, feeling her walls spasm once more before the tension left her body. White-hot pleasure consumed her entire being, greater than she had experienced ever before, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Killian moaned as he thrust upward for the last time, spilling himself violently inside her. Tears stung her eyes, and she wasn't at all surprised to find his cheeks moist as well.

As the euphoria started to fade, his lips found hers again. The way he explored her mouth, as if kissing her for the first time, patiently and lovingly and with a smile, warmed her heart. She gladly returned it twofold. "My Killian," she finally breathed out, her forehead leaning against his. "God, how I love you..."

As if in reply to her declaration, his skin glowed brightly. Somewhere in the room, a heavy object fell to the floor, clanging noisily on wood.

"Emma?" His questioning blue gaze paralyzed her, still nestled in his arms. "My magic ― the Dark One's magic ― I can't feel it anymore. It's  _gone_."


	7. Epilogue

_But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,_

_That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour._

_Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –_

_Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before –_

_On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'_

_Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'_

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

"For the first time in its existence, the blade is devoid of a name," Emma marveled, turning it over again in her hands. It was still unfathomable, how both the dagger and Killian had been leeched of dark magic, the Dark One's curse as invisible as the late Peter Pan.

After errant hair was swept away, soft lips trailed over her shoulder and then along her neck, and when they reached a particularly ticklish spot behind her ear, she giggled, causing the mouth in question to smile against her skin. "All thanks to you, darling." Turning, she faced Killian, who was grinning at her unabashedly as his hand inched downward, stroking the underside of her breast at a purposely seductive pace. "My beautiful, daring savior."

"Hmm, flattery will get you nowhere, Jones," she returned playfully, her mock frown quickly becoming a charmed, joyful smile.

His intense gaze inflamed her senses. "Then allow me to  _show_  you my gratitude, Swan."

Leaning in, their mouths conjoined. Eventually, after several failed attempts on Emma's part to pull away, she was moaning desperately as he sucked on her bottom lip, tugging on it determinedly with his teeth in order to keep her pressed against his chest. Yielding by threading her fingers in his hair, she gasped as his hand continued to wander and his kisses grew hungrier.

Finally, she managed to withdraw from his touch, which only elicited a disappointed pout from him. Emma laughed. "You are quite eager, after all that has happened."

Eyes softening, he invited her back into his embrace, opening his arms to her. Creating an aura of warmth under the bedsheets, they lay down together, her head resting above his heart as she snuggled into him, her hair spread over his chest like a blanket of gold while her fingertips roved underneath. He wrapped himself tightly around her, holding her close, and she sighed happily into his skin, pressing a kiss there.

"To be honest, I never believed the prophecy would come true." She felt his pulse stutter anxiously. "Aye, I  _wanted_  to believe it could,  _needed_  to ― but I only had to look at you to doubt it all. After all...how could anyone ever love the Dark One, or anyone with a foul heart?"

She propped her head up on her elbow to look down at him. "I think Belle and Robin Hood both answered that question already―"

"Ah yes ― the bookworm and the archer." He rolled his eyes in disbelief. "I'm afraid you've not yet told me how that came to pass, love."

"Well, I can't really speak for Belle's love for Rumple..." Emma slid upward, reveling in his low groan as her nipples slowly caressed him in the process. "But you know Tinker Bell...and it turns out she had a past history with Regina. When my parents found out, they begged the fairy to go talk to her, if only to reason with her. My kingdom..." She was hovering over him, outlining the shape of his jaw with her fingertips. When her forefinger circled over his stubble, he caught it in the corner of his mouth and sucked on it lightly. New heat dwelt in her core. "My kingdom wanted peace. It turns out finding true love and adopting his son was enough to motivate Regina to sign a peace treaty."

His eyebrows raised. "She didn't hunt you down again?"

She bit her lower lip and hung her head. "She did, actually. Quite viciously after I disappeared with you, and then when I returned... The first few months were terrible, but we managed."

"And your magic?" He scrutinized her face. "You've become quite adept at it in so short a time."

Chuckling wryly, she replied, "It took a while...but with Tink's persuasion and Regina's help, I got better. Turns out the Evil Queen makes a bad-ass teacher."

His eyes darkened. "Did she hurt you?" he growled out, inspecting her as if expecting to find more injuries.

She shook her head. "No...she didn't." He was still scowling, so she ruffled his hair gently to soothe him. "Killian, I'm alright. It was a lengthy process, getting the country out of a state of war, but we all survived."

"And you didn't find a prince then?" Killian pulled her down to her, kissing the top of her head. "Some lofty lord in a palace who'd sweep you off your feet?" He searched her eyes, his tone now serious. "You said yourself it's been over a year in the Enchanted Forest. Why didn't you marry, Emma?"

The sight of him, strong muscles flexing under her and the moonlight streaking through the cabin window, the contours of his face illuminated, gave her body a contradicting mixture of chills and warmth. He was  _hers_  ― and he wanted  _her_. And apparently, he was quite possessive. "You know why." She lowered her mouth to his. "You're the only one for me. Besides," she half-smiled a moment later while he licked his lips, "my brother will become the king now, instead of me as the queen. But since I'm still a princess, that automatically makes you a prince."

"Does it now?" he teased. "So your renown parents are aware of our illicit affair? Given their blessing, have they?"

"As a matter of fact...they did." His look of utter surprise made her laugh. "There was no point in hiding my feelings for you. I didn't want to be courted, and they couldn't understand why. Still, my mission to come back to Neverland became public knowledge...eventually."

"I imagine they tried to stop you," he mumbled. "As would I―"

"It's a good thing I'm stubborn, then," she countered, raising a brow. "Speaking of which...why did you give Pan your dagger?"

Guilt colored his cheeks, and he looked away from her. "He promised to help me find you. My desire for you...it brooked no argument." His stare was filled with pleading. "My heart felt like it would burst...from the need to see your face, to hear your voice. God, Emma...it was like being deprived of water, being without you. Not a day went by that I didn't think of you."

"I understand," she whispered, kissing him gently. "Because I felt the same way. Even though I had everything...the most important thing was missing."

" _Thing_?"

"Person," she corrected with a smile. "Why, even Bae told me to never give up on finding happiness..."

"Ah, yes...Milah's boy. And your childhood sweetheart." He frowned. "What ever did happen to Bae? Did...did you see him? When you were back in the Enchanted Forest?"

She shook her head, golden locks tumbling down to her chest. "Bae left, Killian," she revealed softly. "He got a magic bean...and went to a world without magic. He was sick of how magic ― and its power ― could destroy people. How it had destroyed his family." She nuzzled his cheek with her lips when he bowed his head, clearly upset by this news. "I know you loved him ― and I know he rejected you. I'm sorry he's gone...but he was very unhappy, without his father and...without me. He deserved a chance for happiness. Like we all do."

"I felt incredibly guilty after I had turned him over to Pan." His eyes shone with that admission. "I've done so much evil, Emma, all in the name of myself. How can you still love me, knowing the truth?"

Toying with the curls at the nape of his neck, Emma took a moment to look over all of him. The wayward hair at the top of his head, messy but attractive nonetheless. His full lips, which were being licked again by his tongue. His chest was rising and falling with every breath, sculpted proudly by years of hard labor and steady movement. Her fingers sought the hair covering the skin there, and when she stroked along the center, where his heart rested, she felt him tremble slightly. His lower half was covered by the sheet, but she wanted to see him in the light, where nothing could be hidden. Lifting it off, she sat up, admiring his body, one hand running down until it rested on his thigh. All the while, his stunning eyes, diamonds of the sea, watched her. He was visibly reacting to her straying touch, and she couldn't deny that what she was doing wasn't affecting her as well.

When she cupped his cheek, lowering herself to grant him a kiss, he met her halfway. His hand entangled itself in her hair, and when he tilted his head, she opened her mouth for him. He pressed his advantage to the fullest. She was flat on her back in a minute, with him on top of her, as he ground his hips against hers and let his lips rove over her neck.

"It's very simple, really." She gasped when he nipped at her skin, his fingers trailing down her side. "I love you because your heart is mine. My heart is already yours ― and it always will be. Because I truly came to love you after learning everything about you. It only made me love you more, knowing all of you...knowing the truth. I believe in you, Killian. You alone made me believe."

Leaning back onto the pillow, Emma pulled him down to her, kissing him again recklessly, madly,  _lovingly_. In return, he left no space between them, helping her to feel him, to not be parted from him for an instant.

"Emma, Emma, Emma..." he whispered, brushing his lips against hers again. "Did you mean...what you said before? About...wanting me?"

" _Yes_ ," she gasped, clutching at his shoulders when he bent down to kiss her breasts, each in turn.

"Good. For I want you ― God,  _I want you_. My love is yours," Killian breathed. "And for the rest of my life, I want to give it to you every day...every night...every minute. Marry me, my darling. Marry me, and we'll never want for happiness again. Because I've never believed in anything as much as I've believed in you ― and in  _us_." He chuckled nervously, his face reddening. "I would offer you a ring, love, but magic seems to have gone missing."

Smirking, she waved her hand, two rings placed on her palm. Taking the smaller, more delicate one, she slipped it onto her ring finger. When he looked at his ring, a silver band engraved with his name and hers in tiny script, she pressed two fingers over his lips before he could speak.

"I have something to give you first. Something which was once lost to you...and now will be returned."

Two more objects appeared in her hands, brought by the lightest magic. He could only gape at her as she unraveled the larger one from its covering, the second one being a small vial of liquid. "How is it possible...?" he marveled, swallowing hard at the sight. Emma didn't blame him for his incredulity. His left hand was as preserved as his right, as if no time has passed at all from when the Dark One had cut it off hundreds of years before.

"A preservation spell, of course." She shook the bottle. "But what's inside here is more powerful than any spell." Gazing at him, she asked beseechingly, "Do you want this, Killian? The water of Lake Nostos cannot take away any of the pain you've felt or any of the memories that hurt you. But it can give you back your hand."

He eyed his hand desperately, as if frightened that it was a mirage. Then he sighed. "Do it. I want two hands for holding you, for touching you, for  _pleasuring_  you," he hissed into her ear. "I want to be one-handed for the last time ― Captain Hook is dead. I want to live as Killian Jones. Your friend. Your lover. Your  _husband_." The way he trilled the words, his tongue caressing them, made her heart beat faster than ever.

Her cheeks flushed, Emma unstoppered the vial, aligned his left arm and hand, and poured out the water over the gap without hesitating. Killian groaned as vapor surrounded the connection, leaving him with a whole limb again when all was clear once more.

"It's a good thing Rumple left his castle, intact, to Bae ― and that Bae let me collect some artifacts from it. As soon as I arrived home, I searched for this. Luckily, I didn't fail."

"Emma...  _Thank you_." She smiled through her tears as he stroked her jawline with his newly restored fingers. When she slowly kissed each of them, he smiled back at her, happiness emanating from every feature. "Now I can truly worship you."

She shook her head at him, her smile softening. "Killian, I don't want you to worship me ― I just want you to love me." She offered him her mouth. "Love me... _love me_..." White light radiated around the entire room, shining brightly before dissipating.

"What was that?" he muttered in between kisses, tightening his hold on her hips.

Grinning, she murmured back, "A silencing spell. So we won't be heard."

Teeth glinting, he laughed. "Very appropriate, little bird." He lowered her onto her back, his hands planted on either side of her head, tugging gently on her hair. "For I intend to make you sing many times tonight ― and I'll be listening closely...very closely..." She moaned when he nestled his face between her thighs, deeply inhaling her scent. His nose nudged her legs wider apart. "No more magic. No more being without each other ― you and I ― man and wife. Sweet Emma...this is only where the fun begins." His wicked grin was sinfully charming. "I, for one, never intend for it to end."

* * *

" _When the little bird escaped its golden cage, he was distraught. He had grown to love the bird's sweet songs, to rely on its soothing voice. But he let it go. He let it fly away from him, because he understood why._

" _Alone with his cold treasure and empty ship, the pirate king was sad and lonely again. He waited and waited, hoping the bird would return. And then―"_

"Then, Momma came back!" cooed Leia, her blonde curls bouncing as she giggled. Henry rolled his eyes, huffing under his breath and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mom, she always ruins the story!" he whined, his lips forming a disgruntled, annoyed pout. "Can we please, just for once, hear the  _original_  ― all the way to end?"

Emma smiled down at them, biting back a chuckle of her own. When her son continued to frown, she ran a hand through his dark brown hair, caressing his head reassuringly. Slowly, a small smile appeared, and though he still glared at his sister, it was with more affection than dislike.

"Leia's only four years old, Henry," she reprimanded him quietly. "Enjoy it while you can, as soon she'll be your age ― and then you'll never hear the end of things."

He hung his head, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Mom."

Nodding her acceptance of his apology, she sat straight on the bed, legs crossed and one brow raised. "Now, who wants to hear the rest?"

"Me! Me!" Leia shouted, poking Henry in the ribs with her small elbow. He groaned, then smirked at her. She smirked back. Mischief entered his blue gaze immediately ― _so much like his father's_ ― and in a flurry of limbs, he tackled her, pinning her down as he tickled her without mercy. Her shrieks and laughs echoed through the small room, and with them were Henry's chortles. With a surprised "oomph!" he fell on his back, scrambling when Leia began to pinch him in return. When she found that especially ticklish spot under his ribs, his thrashing became frenzied.

"No ― stop!" he begged. " _Mom,_  help!"

Emma sighed before she swooped over and took Leia into her arms. "Hey ― it's not nice to torture your brother, dear heart," she told the little girl, combing her disheveled hair with his fingers. Leia only playfully stuck her tongue out at Henry, who winced before propping himself up on the pillows and resuming his former sitting position.

"He started it," Leia mumbled, shifting in her mother's hold so that her face was buried in the crook of Emma's neck. "Momma, I'm sleepy..."

Tucking her further into her embrace, Emma calmly stroked her back while pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know, baby, I know," she hummed.

Henry looked very frustrated. "But the story―"

"Shush," Emma scolded. "Let me rock her first."

Leia's eyes closed, and her breathing deepened. As her daughter fell more and more under the spell of her cradling, Emma cleared her throat. Henry too was growing sleepy, shuffling as he made himself more comfortable amongst the sheets and covers.

"Anyway...then, the little bird returned, on a day when the wind was high and the light was low. It came back to the king, flying fast. And in its beak, there was a bean ― a magic bean, that promised passage between worlds." She swallowed hard, remembering. "Together, the bird and the pirate opened a portal that took them away to the Enchanted Forest...and they never were parted again. For the king had learned how to love again...and the bird had found its true home. And if you ever want to visit where they had been, never fear ― Neverland is the place you visit every night in your dreams, a land of sunlight and laughter. But you don't need a magic bean to come back to me. All you have to do when you want to come home is believe...and  _awaken_."

Leia's soft snores and Henry's gentle breathing filled the air. As gently as she could, Emma laid Leia down in her own bed, which was next to Henry's. "Sweet dreams, little bird," she murmured, kissing her cheek. Then she went to her six-year-old troublemaker, making sure his blankets were keeping him warm enough. "I love you, my little prince," she sighed against his hair.

However, before she could leave, Henry's sleepy voice stopped her. "Mom...wait." He sounded a little embarrassed, but the longing in his voice overcame that. "I know Dad already sang to us, but... Could you...could you sing us a lullaby too, before you go? Please?"

Emma smiled to herself, amused by his shy request. " _You don't have to be scared of the dark... you don't have to be scared_ ," she chanted. " _For I love you with all of my heart...and my love will be there...wherever you are..._ " The last remaining notes of the lullaby lingered in the dark. Carefully, she flicked her fingers, and dim candlelight cast a soft glow over her children, now both sound asleep.

Of course, Killian was waiting right outside for her, a smirk on his face as he leaned lazily against the doorframe. "That was quite the song, darling ― do I get one too?" He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

Emma let out a giggle. "After all these years, I still have a hard time figuring out who's the child here ― those two, or you." She fiddled with her swan necklace, feeling giddy when he swept an arm around her waist and hauled her forward, clasping her to his bare chest.

"Oh?" he purred. "But we're both young yet, milady ― young at heart and in body." His gaze was appraising her light-colored nightgown. "And  _bloody damnation_ , do I like what I see." His voice was an enticing low growl.

"Shh, you'll wake them," she warned with mock seriousness. He peeked inside before closing the door shut.

"No, they're out fast. Naughty little tykes, they are," he said fondly. "Always jumping up and down during my sea shanties, demanding pirate tales instead..."

When he drifted off into thought, she waved her hand behind her back, and in a burst of light, they stumbled into Killian's chambers.

He bit his lip in anticipation. "Always such a woman of action." One hand sneaked beneath her skirt, rising until it palmed one of her breasts. She moaned. "Such beauty, such fire, such light...all right under my fingertips. I must be the most fortunate man in all of the worlds."

"My father might disagree with that," she teased, letting him lift her gown up over her head.

"Well, he hugged me after the wedding ceremony, so maybe he'd concur...eventually..." His other hand cupped her bottom. Quickly, she dismantled his leather trousers, admiring the view on her way down. Out of frustration, she magicked his boots off.

"Hmm...so eager..." He started to kiss down her neck.

"Wait!" Hands on his chest, she lightly pushed him back. "You haven't even kissed me good-night yet." Leaning in, peering up at him, she presented him her lips. "How remiss of you,  _husband,_ " she crooned.

"Heaven forbid I disappoint my princess," he murmured back, his mouth ready for hers.

Several breathless minutes later, Emma was on her back, her thighs spread as Killian settled between them and then kissed her again. "It always feels like the first time, doesn't it?" she managed to utter, her fingers threaded in his hair as he slowly explored her chest. "We age, but our love never grows older. Always the same...always as powerful."

"Indeed." He stared in her eyes, and she saw her family in them ― the family they had made, together. "I'd still follow you to the ends of the earth ― or till the end of time. Whichever comes first." Smiling, he tapped her nose with his forefinger. "Never doubt that I love you, my Emma. You're there, in my heart, next to our children. I'd do anything for you."

She rested her forehead against his. "And I love you, Killian." Then her serious tone changed. "But first ― could you do something for me?" She tried her best to sound flirtatious.

He bought it. "Whatever milady wishes."

Her hips thrust upward against his, making him grunt in surprise. "Make love to me, Captain."

Smiling widely, he complied, eliciting lustful sighs from her.  _Yes, their world was a happy one._

And as the  _Jolly Roger_  rocked them back and forth over the water, sailing her master and mistress toward their destiny, the stars seemed to wink down at the ship, carrying such precious cargo, such unique joy.

* * *

Sated and euphoric, Emma whimpered in her sleep, with Killian snuggling his face between her breasts and his arms wrapped around her waist. God, she was so happy. And no matter what burdens life could possibly throw at them now, that happiness could never be taken away. Because love was eternal.

And she had found both in the man beside her.

* * *

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A final review or comment would be greatly appreciated - thank you for reading! For news about my original fiction and other updates, please visit [my writing blog](https://nataliathewriter.blogspot.com).


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